Sharing
by megzlilpegs
Summary: A shared past, and perhaps if she wished hard enough, a shared future?
1. Birthday Suprises

Chapter One

Mrs. Lovett stirred in her sleep. Visions of screeching seagulls, smiling couples and lively chatter danced around her mind. She didn't want to leave that world, yet unfortunately her senses warned her she was edging ever closer to reality. She loved that world. She was happy there. _He _was happy there.

She yawned, returning to the ever daunting world of consciousness. She stretched, flexing her limbs out in order to wake herself properly. She heard Mr. Todd's impatient pacing above her and glanced up with a worried look. Did that man _ever_ sleep?

She glanced at the time. Ten past seven, she was late. Mr.T would have been serving customers above for two hours already. He was always open before anyone was awake. Why he felt the need to open at such an unearthly hour she had no idea.

The baker dressed quickly, a harsh wind reminding her just how cold London's winter mornings could be. She thought it hardly odd that she had heard no customer climb the stairs the barber shop above; no man in his right mind would brave the streets with such a chill in the air.

She fussed around with her hair a while before finally admitting defeat and pinning it in its usual, disarrayed style. Mrs. Lovett moved towards the door hastily: she was running very late. Stepping into the doorway, she heard something hit the cold, hard floor. Her hands flew instantly to her neck where her most precious accessory should have been. She bent down to the floor and searched the cold floorboards with her wearied hands. Soon finding the emerald pendant, she held it carefully. She sighed looking into the deep green reflection, transfixed by her thoughts. The pendant hadn't always been so dull. It used to glimmer, shine and gleam in the sunlight. But the years had not been particularly kind to the emerald jewel and its happy spark had faded. Not unlike herself. She smiled faintly as she thought back seventeen long years.

Miss. Lovett's heart raced as she ran down the stairway to her room. Benjamin had told her earlier that he has a surprise for her, and had banished her from her own quarters until her saw fit to show her. Now that he called for her, Nellie bubbled with excitement. She stopped and stood just before the doorway, attempting to calm herself before entering. She moved and stood in the doorway.

"Nellie!" he exclaimed, smiling as he turned to greet her, "how are you my dear?"

She beamed at him, her efforts to appear calm obviously failing her.

"Very well thank you Mr.B, yourself?"

"Im quite well too, my girl," he spoke warmly, "but enough of me, it is you we should be giving our attention to."

"Me?"

"Yes my dear, today is yours!"

"Mr.B?" she said, slightly confused.

"Now, now Nellie, you can't tell me you've forgotten.. here," he spoke excitedly, smiling as he passed her a small, wrapped box, "Happy birthday, Nellie!"

"Oh Mr.B," she started breathlessly, "you remembered!"

"Of course my dear, how could I not?"

"Oh! You shouldn't have!" she said, glancing excitedly at the gift. He only smiled, his eyes shining.

She tugged at the crimson ribbon, pulling the neat bow apart. He stood over her as she tore at the silver paper, revealing a small box. She opened the box, her eyes wide in anticipation. She smiled as she saw her emerald green reflection. Standing over her shoulder he beamed back, seeing her happy reflection. He could tell she liked it from the thrilled expression that danced in her eyes. He was glad, it had taken hours to find a necklace just right for Nellie.

"Mr. Barker-" she started.

"Benjamin, please!" he insisted.

"Benjamin then, you really shouldn't have!"

"Oh but how could I resist?" he started, gesturing towards her outfit, "with such a fine array of clothing to match, Nellie, how is it that you do not own a single necklace to compliment your beautiful eyes?"

Mrs. Lovett started to object to such lavish compliments, but he would not let her speak.

"You ought to see yourself sometimes Nellie, you're not too hard on the eye and I don't care how modest you want to be about it!"

He spoke jestingly, and she smiled back at him, his generous compliments warming her heart to the happiest it had ever been.

"It's lovely, thank you Ben."

"You're welcome of course, happy birthday," he spoke warmly, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

She blushed furiously, the sensation of his lips on her cheek something she had only ever dreamed of. She felt the wave of heat rise to her face, hoping that in the dim light he wouldn't notice her now crimson cheeks. She stayed silent, not trusting herself to speak. He placed his hand softly on her shoulder.

"There you see, now you can think of me everyday when you see the necklace!" he said teasing, unaware of how dangerously close he was to the truth. She laughed at his attempt of a joke: she hardly needed a necklace to remind her of him, he scarcely ever left her mind.

"Come now," he spoke, interrupting her thoughts, "lets put it on together."

Together. She glowed as he spoke to her. She loved how that word sounded from his lips. Just her and him, him and her, Benjamin and Nellie. Just like she dreamt it to be. Just like it was _supposed_ to be…

Interrupting her thoughts came a loud yell.

"Ben! Ben!"

Lorraine, Lucy's best friend, ran into the room, quite out of breath.

"What is it?" he turned to the doorway, instantly forgetting Nellie, "is Lucy alright?"

"She-, her-, the-, I-," she paused still catching her breath, "the baby-, it's-, she's-,"

Benjamin's face took on an infuriatingly pained look at Lorraine's pauses, desperately needing information.

"She's in labour!" she finally managed to spit out.

"Oh good God," he squeeked, overjoyed, excited, and suddenly nervous. He was about to be a father! He started to run towards the door, but remembering Nellie, he turned back to her.

"You'll be alright on your own?"

She nodded, and he gave her a thankful smile.

"Good-"she started, but he was gone before she could continue.

She watched from the window as he raced outside to the carriage where his wife was already seated.

"Luck" she murmured to herself, finishing what he hadn't heard.

Nellie sighed as she watched the, drive away. She'd be alright on her own, she always was.

Mrs. Lovett smiled weakly: it wasn't as though she'd ever had a choice. She yelped as a sharp pain shot through her, wakening her from her daze. The pendant had chipped in its fall, and she glanced, annoyed, at where the sharp edge had pierced her skin. She watched silently as the ruby drop slid down her pale finger. Shaking her head she wiped the blood on her work stained dress, raising the pendant to her neck. Standing and heading for her shop, she fastened it with a sigh. She had worn it for seventeen years, and, chipped or not, she wasn't about to give it up.


	2. Curtains of My Desire

_Taking one last hopeless glance at herself in the mirror, Mrs. Lovett hurried to her shop.._

Chapter Two

Mrs. Lovett sighed as she saw the busy line of customers already waiting outside. She laughed at herself, remembering how she had once complained of her then lifeless shop. She couldn't help but smile, thinking of complaints to Mr. Todd on his arrival.

"Haven't seen a customer for weeks," she sung under her breath, smiling.

Now, with business booming, she was kept on her feet all day, leaving her bones weary when the chilly nights finally came. She _was_ grateful for the business, but sometimes she just wished it didn't take so much energy to run the old pie emporium.

She glanced over at the empty chair, usually pulled up to the shop bench, frowning at the unoccupied space. She had been hoping for some assistance with the morning rush, but evidently her needs were not to be met. With Toby missing, she was not looking forward to opening: it was hard enough _with_ his help, let alone without it. She wondered where on earth the boy could be, he wouldn't leave her alone for his own reasons and she knew he was far too smart than to get into any sort of trouble. Mr. Todd must have sent him on an errand. Or rather _forced_ him on an errand.

"Poor lad, out there in such messy weather," she mumbled to herself.

She felt awfully sorry for the boy, though. He was terrified of her tenant. She didn't blame him, she was rather afraid of him herself. She never truly knew how far he would bend until he snapped. She never knew if he would one day act on his threats and unleash his razors on her pale neck. She never knew if she should stop before it got too far. She really _ought_ to watch herself around him and take more notice of his warnings. She _should_ be more careful, but she never was. He _was_ unpredictable, but she found he never caused her too much injury. She was a smart woman, despite what the neighbours might say about her mental health, and she knew when to leave him be. He didn't cope well with being tested: she'd learnt that the hard way. Though of course, she wasn't always so lucky when it came to avoiding his ravenous temper, and had found herself numerous times in rather uncomfortable positions. Quite often she'd find herself backed up against the wall, pinned by his glare, his razor pressed threateningly to her neck, her heart hammering in her tiny frame and her pulse racing in fear. She _was_ afraid of him, but she could handle him. Most of the time, anyway. The baker mumbled something of a curse as she walked clumsily into the bench, sighing softly as she set to work.

Within half an hour she had everything ready, and the widow smiled as she pulled the last tray of pies from the oven, relieved to finally stop for breath. It had been quite an effort to get her shop ready in time by herself, but she had managed. With five minutes to spare she sat down heavily in her chair with a sigh.

In free moments like this the woman often wondered if Mr. Todd took any notice of her words. Why, just last night she'd spoken to him, but she could've sworn that not a single word went through to him. It was like he had a guard, a barricade around his head, allowing only very few things to enter, and nothing to leave. She hoped he'd taken note of her idea last night: she was _sure _it was a good one. Surely Mr. Todd could do with some curtains for that window. She shook her head, _that bloody window_. He paid it more attention than he did her, and maybe, just maybe, if it was covered up h_e_ might forget to look out of it so often. She sighed, knowing her attempts at _that _were in vain. She knew better than anyone that forgetting _anything_ was not on Sweeney Todd's agenda. She'd been sharply reminded of the fact the night before and the conversation was still fresh in her mind..

Mr.T stood, glaring through the window, as always, as Mrs. Lovett approached him.

"Love, don't ya think we should get ya some lovely curtains for the window?" she said, pointing to the foggy glass.

He merely grunted in reply.

"'cos I was thinking…what if someone chanced a look up one day, an' saw ya doin' yer customers 'ead off? Pretty risky love. Don't ya think curtains would be good?"

"Sure," he replied, not listening to a word she said.

"Alrighty then," she said happily, "I'll go the market tomorrow an' get a nice lot of curtains."

He continued to ignore her, and she continued rambling on to herself.

"'an who knows, maybe with the window all hidden up, ya might not worry so much 'bout watchin' for the judge."

His attention suddenly caught by the last word of her sentence, he turned to her.

"What?"

"And ya know, with not watchin' an' all, ya might even surprise yerself an forget 'bout 'im," she rambled, quite innocent of the rage she was provoking.

"No," he growled at her, "I will not forget. Not until, Mrs. Lovett, his blood coats this very floor!"

Mrs. Lovett let out a small squeak at his sudden outburst.

"All I was sayin' love, was that you 'ardly ever step away from that window now. Anyone would think you was peepin' on them girls across the road" she said, waving her hand in the direction of their neighbors, "'tis a little odd-lookin' to the lotsa people out there."

"If you think," he sneered, " that I can even think such thoughts without reminding myself of what happened to my Lucy, you are severely mistaken!"

The baker voiced a small squeal as the man came towards her. He sneered at her.

"Forget the curtains."

"But love," she cooed, "someone will see ya. An' you'll end up back in that 'ell 'ole again.."

"And you of all people, Mrs. Lovett, care?"

The barber advanced on her again, effortlessly controlling her moves. As he advanced, she moved back, and soon he had her backed against the wall. Her heart hammered in her frame, as she eyed his leather holsters warily. He sneered at her trembling form. She felt his hot breath against her neck, and for a short moment she dared to let her mind wander..and saw him catch her thoughts. _Damn_.

Mr. Todd caught her eye, seeing straight through her; revealing exactly what was on her mind. She hated that about him. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how well she concealed herself from the world, he would always see through her. She shifted her gaze, realizing it was too late to hide her thoughts. She realized the danger now and tried to move, but the barber was too close to allow escape. She struggled again but no avail, he was too close, too _deliciously_ close.

"You filthy whore," he spat at her, before turning away sharply, leaving her physically unharmed and dumbfounded.

"Mr. T?"

He rolled his eyes. Did this woman have _any_ sense? He turned back to her, once again backing her against the cold wall.

"Get out," he breathed

"But-"

"Get out!" he yelled, turning away from her as she scrambled out of the room. She may test him, but she knew his limit.. usually.

Mrs. Lovett giggled to herself as a few improper thoughts drifted into her mind. She smiled a little, thinking of what the two of them could have done up against the wall. She stood sighing as reality again dawned on her. She moved to the door, ready to let the first lot of rowdy customers into the store.


	3. The Puzzle

_Mrs. Lovett giggled to herself as a few improper thoughts drifted into her mind. She smiled a little, thinking of what the two of them could have done up against the wall. She stood sighing as reality again dawned on her. She moved to the door, ready to let the first lot of rowdy customers into the store.._

Chapter Three

Despite the cold weather, the line outside her now famous meat pie emporium had almost doubled since she last checked. The widow shook her head, with Toby missing she'd have to deal with the morning rush by herself. No doubt the barber would sit upstairs and brood, not caring if she busted both her ankles serving customers. As soon as this thought had escaped her mind, she heard the heavy thud of Mr. Todd's shoes descending the stairs. _Odd_. Mrs. Lovett barely had time to straighten her skirt before he appeared at the landing, looking rather awkward. For a moment, both stood entirely still, neither willing to be the first to speak. She studied him closely in the stubborn silence. He didn't seem angry, or even resentful of her actions of the previous night. He wasn't grasping at his razor, nor pacing. If Mrs. Lovett didn't think _that_ odd enough, she could have sworn she saw him blink back a tear. A surge of compassion washed over her, and she _almost_ moved to hug the man. No, she knew better. He was only upset for the moment, but she knew that one fateful move from her was all it took to send him reeling into an uncontrollable rage. She decided it best to ignore him, and she moved to let in the hungry customers. As she moved towards the old wooden door Mr. Todd stepped forwards into the room.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said, his voice hoarse, almost strained.

Mrs. Lovett didn't turn, trying her best to ignore the man, and proceeded to unlock the door.

"Mrs. Lovett," he spoke louder, his voice echoing through the cold room.

She jumped a little, not expecting the man to pursue her attention.

"Oh, yes?"

He stood silently, staring at the doors behind her.

"Do not open those doors, we're not opening today."

Mrs. Lovett gave him an odd look. He sounded tired, even more so than usual. His voice was dry and rough. He seemed different, but she couldn't place it. He wouldn't look at her, even when she spoke. But then again, he never did.

"Don't," he repeated when she turned back to the door.

She studied him closer, confused. Mrs. Lovett swore she could see tear streaks on his sullen face. If she didn't know him better she would have sworn he'd been crying. Even so, she couldn't afford to close for a day: she needed to finish off what was left of the unfortunate tourist that lay downstairs. She needed the money too, and couldn't understand why he'd close. For once, she could conceive no answer, and figured he must have been joking.. not that the barber was one for jokes.

"Love," she started almost playfully, "you know as well as I do the stink if I 'av to chuck the waste of pies down the sewer. 'sides we need the business. We're opening."

"No," he spoke coldly, still avoiding her eyes, "we're not."

"Mr.T, I can't afford to lose me customers jus' 'cos you got out of the wrong side of the bed this mornin,'" she spoke a little too insistently, instantly regretting it.

He glared at her resentfully.

"Fine. You open. I don't."

Mrs. Lovett stared at him in shock. She had just said something far to bold for her rank, and yet here she was, unscathed. Wasn't he angry? Wasn't he going to push her up against the wall and watch as she writhed beneath him, amber eyes pleading for her life? Wasn't he going to push his cold metal blade to her neck? She stared in disbelief as he turned slowly away from her. Where was his rage? He should have nearly killed her for her bold words! The widow was shocked. Shocked and somehow disappointed. In those times of terror, the pure fear for her life excited her. His cold hands and dark eyes bearing down on her tiny frame exhilarated her. She hated it, but _oh_ how she loved it. And now, Sweeney Todd was not angry. He was not raging at her, nor glaring at her dangerously. He was acting far too strange for Mrs. Lovett's liking. He was a puzzle and she would solve it.

"Mr.T, might I remind ya tha' I need a fresh supply of bodies to keep them damned pies coming?"

"Well then," he said, walking toward the door, "I guess you _will _close after all."

He walked straight over to the doors, and, much to the crowds' despair, pulled the blinds close. A few angry shouts from disgruntled customers cut through the cold air, before it was totally silent again.

She stared at him, bewildered. It wasn't just her imagination, he _was_ upset. Curiosity struck Mrs. Lovett right in her middle.

"Why ain't ya openin' anyway?"

He merely grunted in return, a fair warning to her, but one which, as always, she ignored.

"Mr.T, out with it."

Mrs. Lovett was more than curious. The one thing she could never handle was puzzles, she _needed_ an answer. All of hell could open up and the barber would not quit his merciless job, and yet here he was demanding a day off. Math was never her strong point, but her limited common sense told her it didn't add up. Mr.T wasn't the sort for holidays. A bit of a workaholic, as it were. Nothing could tear him from his _friends_ until the last person on the streets had turned in for the night. His work was the only thing that kept him sane. Well, relatively so.

"Can't a bloke take a day off without a bloody reason?" he all but yelled, "I just need a break," he finished, calming himself.

Mrs. Lovett was not convinced. The widow may be crazy, but she certainly wasn't stupid; he was hiding something.

"No, a bloke can't jus' quit 'is job for a day without no reason' she retorted a-matter-of-factly.

He turned quickly to her. Mrs. Lovett half expected him to kill her then and there.

He hated her. He hated how she tested him, taunted him, until he _had_ to give her answers. Tonight, she was not going to get any. No, tonight he would let her suffer. He advanced towards her, avoiding her eyes, but the baker did not move from her place. He continued to advance. She shifted uneasily: he wasn't doing it right! He looked upset, not annoyed or angry. He wasn't glaring threats at her nor thumping loudly towards her. He was simply walking. It wasn't like him, and it made her uneasy. She thought herself as good as dead. If she was going out, she wasn't going out without a fight.

"So Mr.T," she challenged, her voice a little higher, "what's ya reason?"

He looked at her, his eyes for once devoid of any anger. For a split second, their eyes met, locking for a few precious seconds. She gasped, he _had_ been crying!

"I just," he said almost pleadingly, "need a break."

He looked at her once more before severing their eye contact and turning away. This one time when he actually _wouldn't _kill her and she wouldn't shut her much-too-big mouth. He just wanted to be alone, in peace. That _should_ be an easy task. He _was_ alone, utterly, totally and horribly alone. No-one knew Sweeney Todd. No-one accepted him for what he was. He was forced to act: unwillingly taking on the mannerisms and habits of a normal man. He was _not_ normal, far from it. Nobody knew him, nobody cared. And then there was Mrs. Lovett. She wasn't a somebody. Nobody cared for her either. She had nobody. She _was_ a nobody, just like him. She didn't count, but she _did_ care. No matter what he did to her, she always fixed his breakfast for him the next day, and always brought him his tot of gin in the evening. Yes, she cared, but he wished to God that she didn't. Every night that infernal woman would say something stupid, touch his hand too warmly, speak too softly, or remind him in some godforsaken way of Lucy. She would curse his revenge, make him try to see ahead. He hated her for it. He didn't _want_ to look ahead. Ahead was where he had lost himself with Lucy. Ahead was _why_ he lost Lucy. If he hadn't been so damn devoted to planning their future, he would have seen what was happening. That damned baker was always dreaming of what lie ahead. Or rather, of what most certainly did not. She would believe he was the person he was in her dreams, giving her some form of confidence. Believing that somewhere, deep down, he really loved her. He didn't. He hated her. She would push him until he snapped at her, bringing his razor routinely to her bare neck. He liked snapping at her, women like her needed to be shown who was boss. And he _was_ boss. But today, he wouldn't snap at her. He couldn't. No, today he needed her silent. He needed his mind silent. He was so lost in his thoughts that he could not bring himself to be angry. He felt nothing, no anger, no rage, and no blinding bloodlust.

She stared at him, unable to fathom the reason for his mood shift. It scared Mrs. Lovett seeing him so disturbed. Despite being so manic, Mr.T was actually quite easy to predict. She'd say something stupid or imply a fault on Lucy, and he'd pull her up against the wall, glaring threats at her. Then he'd let her go, sneering some sarcastic remark as he left her. It was always the same and always, _always_ frightening. But when he was like this, he was unpredictable. She didn't know how he was feeling, she couldn't _see_ the effect her voice was having on him. Not knowing was something she definitely didn't like. He could lash out at her, unprepared. His normal outbursts were regular, routined, and she knew, although sometimes doubted the fact, that he wouldn't _kill_ her. But like this, she never knew. He could, and probably _would _kill her if she crossed him in this mood. She shifted uneasily behind him, she really _did_ want an answer, but she needed to watch herself.

"Mr.T?" she questioned softly.

"Please," he spoke surprisingly softly, turning to her quickly, "I'm just tired," he turned back away and moved towards a chair.

His eye caught hers sharply as he turned, and she knew. He wasn't tired, not in the least. His words may convince his unsuspecting customers, but not her. Mrs. Lovett knew him far too well. Her heart panged as she registered the familiar look on his face. He could lie with simple words, but she suddenly saw straight through him. His eyes told her the truth that she tried so hard to ignore: Lucy.

She sighed dejectedly, the voice in her head nagging at her.

_Well of course it's bloody Lucy! What did you think?_

She shook her head. She honestly didn't know what she had thought. She didn't _want_ to know.

"Alright then," she said softly, "rest up."

She smiled at him half-heartedly, not wanting to bring the subject of his thoughts into conversation.

He sighed, taking a seat. The woman still had _some_ sense after all.


	4. The Accomplice and the Rat

_She smiled at him half-heartedly, not wanting to bring the subject of his thoughts into conversation._

_He sighed, taking a seat. The woman still had __some__ sense after all.._

Chapter Four

Mrs. Lovett sneezed sharply, sending a cloud of flour sprinkling through the air. She cursed at herself before throwing down her cleaning rag and admitting defeat to the stubborn bench. As she felt her knees protest to her movement she suddenly regretted convincing the barber to let her open for the dinner rush. Still, with it over could gloat in the fact that she had made a very handsome profit, and could now take a much needed rest. It had been a rough day. She almost laughed aloud when she thought of the trouble she'd had. A group of 'officers' had shown at her shop, and each had demanded a free meal. But, Mrs. Lovett was not one to be easily fooled and had sent the imposters packing without a single crumb.

She glanced worriedly over at the barber. He hadn't moved once all day. He just sat there, staring. He hadn't even flinched when she had not-so-accidentally bumped into his outstretched leg. He just stayed there, unnoticing and unmoving. Poor thing. Mrs. Lovett of course, was not entirely unused to his sulks, but this was different. She'd seen him sit in his chair above for endless hours, but never for_ this_ long. She never seen him _this_ detached. The fact that he had chosen _her_ kitchen to brood in confused her. He hardly set foot down there on his own accord and always protested when she forced him down the stairs to her shop. He had said plainly that he needed rest, and she knew he needed to be alone, yet he had chosen her constantly noisy kitchen to sulk in. It confused her, but it excited her all the same. She knew there must be a reason behind him staying downstairs, and she hoped to the heavens that _she_ was that reason. She knew her hopes were doomed to be fruitless, they always were, but it suited her well enough to believe in them while they lasted. She headed towards the cupboard and found that Toby had all but finished their last bottle of gin.

"Mr.T, the cupboards is right empty, I think I'll pop down to the bakehouse an' see if we got us anythin' ta drink alright love?"

Mr. Todd however, could not care less about the content of her kitchen cupboard, and continued to ignore her, taking no notice of her as she gave him a worried look and headed down to the bakehouse.

She frowned as she spied the basket of laundry near the bakehouse door. On top of everything she did, she'd offered to do his laundry for him, and those stains did _not_ come out easy. She hadn't counted on him being so damned messy about his killings. Just yesterday alone had left her with three bloodstained shirts. And the damned man didn't even have the graciousness to bring them to her: he just left them at the bakehouse door. Not that she expected anything gracious of him. She shook her head, why did she feel the need to do everything for the barber?

"'Ere, 'ows about I do yer laundry for ya? All that blood ain't gonna wash itself out" she'd said.

She sighed, what a bloody good idea _that_ had been.

She shivered as she entered the dark bakehouse. The room was decidedly cold, despite the large oven burning for all hours of the day. Humming quietly to herself, she walked over to the shelf, which, as well as holding her 'tools of the trade' also doubled as their liquor stockpot. She frowned. It seemed they were fresh out of gin. That kid really _did_ drink like a sailor. She stopped her cheery humming, they were going to have to put up with rum until she went to the market again. She sighed, grabbing two dusty bottles and turned to leave. Sweeney wouldn't be happy. Rum wasn't nearly strong enough for him. At that thought, Mrs. Lovett turned back to take another bottle. With him in such a state, she was certain one of them was going to need it, though she couldn't say who.

She began walking towards the shelf, freezing suddenly: her eyes widening. She stood silently, fighting the urge to run. The two locked eyes, the animal's beady orbs not leaving hers for a second. Mrs. Lovett dropped her gaze and very carefully moved to the left. She shrieked in fright as the rat jumped down from the shelf and ran up her leg in one swift movement. She screamed louder as she felt its claws digging into her legs as she jumped up and down in order to shake it loose. Still screaming, she slipped on a forgotten limb, falling backwards in her attempts to lose the rodent from underneath her skirts. With a small thud, Mrs. Lovett's backside met the cold floor, the impact forcing her hands instantly to her back, losing their grip on the bottles. The glass bottles hit the ground, instantly shattering and sending fragments of glass all over the bakehouse. The filthy rodent flew out from under her skirts with a squeal at the sound, leaving Mrs. Lovett sitting in a pool of the now much needed alcohol. She shook her head, now the man _really_ wasn't going to be happy. Cursing her childish reaction, the baker attempted to stand. Cockroaches, spiders, leeches, worms, well..any sorts of bugs she was fine with. She wasn't exactly the squeamish type, she baked people into pies for heavens sakes! But rats made her sick to the bone. Filthy, rotten, fleabags the lot of them. Just one glimpse of a tail and she froze over: not a very convenient phobia with London's current hygiene standards. Mrs. Lovett let out a yelp as a sharp pain shot through her ankle and up her leg. She glanced down at it angrily, as if she could scare the pain away. Her bones really _were_ too old for this. Silently behind her, Mr. Todd appeared at the door.

"What was that crash? Why did you scream?"

Mrs. Lovett jumped at the sudden deep voice.

"Oh Mr.T-" she stated, only to be cut off by his rough voice.

He didn't want an apology, he didn't want a thank you, and he certainly didn't want a comment on his being there. He didn't want to hear any of her nonsensical ramblings. But he had asked her a question and was doomed to hear a much too long answer. He didn't even _want_ to know what happened. Why had he asked? He didn't want to be there, so why was he? He couldn't even remember getting there. One moment he was in her shop, the next, he was there. If she was going to ramble on about _his_ day, rather than the mess she sat it, he would rather leave.

"What happened?" he asked forcefully.

"Well I jus' came down 'ere like I said I was, to get us some drinks -figurin' ya might be needin' some in your state- an' I turn 'round an' there's this big ol' rat sittin' there" she spoke hurriedly, flailing her arm in the direction of the shelf, "an' 'e ran right up me leg, under me skirts an' all. Gave me such a fright tha' I fell an' dropped the bottles!"

The thought of a furry rat being up the bakers skirts amused Mr. Todd, though he'd never let on.

"Well are _you_ alright?"

She simply stared at him in shock.

"Are, are,' she stuttered, "Are you?"

He glared at her, his answer obvious.

"I think I done me ankle when I fell love, I'll be alright" she said, a small smile gracing her face. Had he really just asked after her well-being?

He mumbled some indecipherable curse under his breath, not at the smiling baker, but at himself. Why did that woman pick his weakest moments to need his help?

Mrs. Lovett watched, still barely breathing in shock, as the man left her alone in the bakehouse. Did he really just totally ignore the fact that she had ruined their liquor stock? Was he actually _not_ angry with her? She was amazed. Once again, the baker's heart began to flutter with hope that _she_ might just be the reason behind his odd behaviour. After all, she was his landlord, his company, his cleaner, and they _did_ share the same roof. She _was_ his accomplice. She suddenly shook her head of the false images. That's _all_ she was. His accomplice. If she was injured, he couldn't work. She stood despite the pain in her ankle, and headed towards the stairs, her heart heavy.


	5. Hallucinations of an Unconcious Mind

_After all, she __was__ his landlord, his company, his cleaner, and they did share the same roof. She __was__ his accomplice. She suddenly shook her head of the false images. That's __all__ she was. His accomplice. If she was injured, he couldn't work. She stood despite the pain in her ankle, and headed towards the stairs, her heart heavy.._

Chapter Five

With half an hours rest, Mrs. Lovett soon found herself easily back on her feet. Her ankle was a pain, but it had ceased to be more than a dull throb. Despite her unfortunate fall, the baker was in a rather cheery mood and hummed quietly to herself as she bustled to and fro. Sweeney had been considerate to her, and regardless of if he meant it, she was overjoyed.

Mr. Todd on the other hand was less than amused. Though he _had_ managed to fake his concern enough to shut her up and keep her attentions away from himself, the mood his efforts had so evidently put her in annoyed him thoroughly. He had managed to ignore her all day, but her incessant joyous humming could not be ignored. Without a word, he stood to leave, and before she could question him, the barber was gone.

He trod heavily up the wooden stairs to his shop, the air around him soothingly silent. He reached for the cold handle, but found himself unable to turn it. He couldn't go in there; not today. Mrs. Lovett's assumptions were correct, her _did_ hate being in her shop, and leaving his, but today he had no choice. He could not cope with the painful memories that room held. He could not drown them in his clients' blood, for they would not simply die away. Today they were immortal, hovering like a spell. A curse. He shivered as he saw his wife's glowing form open the door for him. She smiled at him, evidently glad for his return.

"Benny!" she exclaimed, "how was your day?"

He smiled at her, taking the bubbling child from her arms.

"Much better now I'm home. And how are my two favourite ladies in the world?"

She smiled at him. _That_ smile. It melted him, dazed him.

Sweeney stepped forward, gently whispering his wife's name.

"Lucy?"

He stepped again. His head collided with the cold, locked door. They were gone.

"Lucy? Johanna?" he cried out almost desperately.

For a split second, he saw her again, smiling at him again. That smile made him weak. All too soon, she was gone again. No, he shook his head, not weak, it made him foolish.

He cursed himself, watching his reflection as a small drop of blood trickled down his pale forehead where he'd collided with the door. He couldn't be up there, not today. Reluctantly, he headed down to the Pie shop, much to its owners delight.

Mrs. Lovett hummed cheerfully to herself, smiling softly as the sharp trill of the shop's entry bell announced the barbers return. She fought the overwhelming urge to turn around, reasoning that her health was much better off if she stayed her distance, but reason never stuck well with the woman.

"'ello love" she said, fighting not to turn to him, despite her hearts protest.

He, of course did not bother a reply, and the baker could hold out no longer. She turned to the barber, stifling a worried gasp at the sight that met her eyes. Mr. Todd was sitting rather awkwardly in the chair, his usual blank expression possessing his face, and his expression remained the same, hardly noticing as another drop of blood trickled down his pale forehead, leaving behind a ruby-red streak.

"Mr.T!" she gasped, rushing over to him, "your head!"

He didn't move, fully aware of the gash on his temple.

"You're bleedin'!" she exclaimed.

"I know," he replied, rather annoyed by her presence.

"What 'appened?"

"Im fine," he said forcefully. Mr. Todd did _not_ wish to share his recollection of events with the woman.

"No y'aren't," she stated plainly, "'ere, let me," she spoke softly, almost motherly, as she quickly retrieved a cloth from the kitchen's dubious looking cupboards.

He _nearly_ pulled away from her as she applied the cloth to his head, but realized that the sooner he was 'all better', the sooner she would leave him be.

Mrs. Lovett fussed over him for a few minutes before removing the cloth from the now clean wound.

"There y'are," she smiled triumphantly, "all better."

He rolled his eyes. _Indeed_. Contradictory to Mr. Todd hopes, Mrs. Lovett did not leave. He stood to leave instead, for if she would not go, he would. He knew he couldn't face the room above, but a dark London alleyway would suffice enough for his pacing. Mrs. Lovett's smile faded as she saw him stand.

"Where ya goin' love?"

"Out."

"Where?" she asked impatiently.

He sighed.

"Nowhere," he said as he sat back down. Anything to shut that infernal woman up.

"Oh."

She didn't like it. He was different. He gave in too easily. She didn't get to attempt persuading him. She didn't get the chance to move deliciously close to him, fluttering her eyes as only _she_ could. She had no reason to move near him and show off her ample chest: there _was_ a reason she wore the low cut dresses that she did. As her mother had always said: if you've got it, flaunt it. And she had it alright. She knew he never noticed, let alone cared, but she enjoyed _thinking_ he did. She sighed to herself. She'd had enough of his odd behaviour, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

"Mr. Todd?" she questioned softly.

"What?"

"You don't look all that well love."

He fought back the urge to roll his eyes. G_enius_. She paused for a reaction, but seeing none, she continued.

"What's botherin' ya?"

He sighed deeply. _Anything to shut her up_. He could bear her voice no longer. He tried to voice his troubles, but found himself annoyingly unable to control his voice.

"Her birthday," he managed, hardly able to voice the words.

The baker only stared, confused.

"It's her birthday," he eventually managed, finally gaining control over his voice.

Mrs. Lovett held back a sigh of disappointment. Of course, it was Lucy Barker's birthday.

The pair stood silently for numerous minutes, a feat for the baker that Mr. Todd would have found amusing, had he been in the mood to be amused.

The widow was, of course, the first to speak.

"Now, now, poor dear," she soothed sympathetically.

The barber did not hear her, nor did he notice as she drew slowly towards him. Mrs. Lovett stood on her tiptoes, snaking her arms around him in a comforting hug. A stupid, foolish mistake.

The minute he felt her warm breath on his shoulder, the man awoke, throwing the petite woman off his cold body and against the colder still wall. Within moments, his razor was at her neck, pressed threateningly against her milky skin. She hardly dared to breathe.

"_We've been through this_," he seethed at her.

If the circumstances had permitted, the baker surely would have sighed at this. They certainly _had _been through it. She knew the rules. No mentioning the past, no remarks on Lucy, no interferences with his schemes, no speaking of Johanna, no fond words, no physical contact…the list went on and on. They were laws, unspoken, but she knew they were the rules. And you know what they say, rules are made to be broken. She _would _have sighed at this, but, as it were, she could only manage a strangled whimper. She knew her silence would only provoke him, she _had _to talk.

"I- I- I- er- I know- um- I- you- er-" she stuttered, her deep brown eyes wide in fear.

She suppressed a yelp as she felt the cold metal pierce her skin, the small cut trickling rubies. He wasn't messing around this time.

"You had better have a bloody good reason for touching me or your next breath could be you last."

The baker was dead silent, momentarily forgetting all reason. She had no answer, and was not in the right mind to make up one.

"I am _not_ above killing you Mrs. Lovett," he reminded her, his eyes burning into her.

She believed him. This time, no amount of practical sensibility was going to get her out of this. She had crossed his already unstable mood, and she was certain she would pay. Suddenly the baker liked boring, upset, brooding Sweeney a whole lot better.

"I-I-I, I was only comfortin' ya" she managed

Every word the woman spoke seemed to write her own death warrant.

"You can't comfort me," he spat, "no-one can."

"I jus' thought some woman's arms might-"

She was interrupted as his palm collided forcefully with her face, sending her off balance. The contact shook her to the bone, the pain searing through her head within seconds. Her eyes welled up automatically as she shifted her head back to face her attacker, her face stinging. For a moment she stared at him dumbly, utter shock overriding her pain.

"I don't need no woman's touch," he growled at her, showing no remorse as she gingerly lifted her hand to her now marked cheek.

Mrs. Lovett felt her emotions boiling up, the burning of her face causing her to lose some of her so-called practicality. She nearly swore as she felt her eyes blink back hot tears. _No!_ _She would not cry!_

"Well I thought-" she started, her voice edgy.

"You thought _wrong_," he growled, his voice rising to threaten her own.

"Well some womanly care might do you good if you gave it a chance!"

"I don't need no woman but Lucy!" he shouted, his voice matching her own in strength.

"Oh for God's sake!" she yelled, "she's gone!"

She continued, her voice growing dangerously high as her emotions took over.

"I'm all you've bloody well got!"

"And what," he responded, unwavered by her yelling, "makes you think I could _ever_ want you?"

"I look after you far better than your bloody Lucy ever did!" she screamed at him, her voice and mind now hysteric.

"You will _never_," he growled at her shaking form, "be Lucy."

The barber waited a few cruel moments for this fact to register painfully with the woman before her struck her again.

She moved her mouth to speak but was forced into silence.

"Never!" he yelled as his palm connected with her head. He turned from her small form, stalking away from the woman, as she fell to the floor with a sickening thud.

He glared out of her shop window. She could _never_ be Lucy.

He turned back to her, preparing himself to be repulsed by the sight of her shaking and choking on her tears. He stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. She wasn't shaking. She wasn't crying. He exited the shop hastily. The baker wasn't moving.


	6. Twirling From Sanity

_He turned back to her, preparing himself to be repulsed by the sight of her shaking and choking on her tears. He stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. She wasn't shaking. She wasn't crying. He exited the shop hastily. The baker wasn't moving._.

Chapter Six

Mrs. Lovett awoke an hour later in a dazed blur. Her head pounded and her limbs ached from the cold. She could hardly make out her surroundings, let alone remember how she got there. Why was she on the floor? As another wave of throbbing pain came over her, she remembered the cold hand which had been her last sight before the cold and terrifying darkness had settled on her. He had _hit_ her! Before the baker could adjust to reality, the shop door crashed open as she barber appeared, slamming the door behind him.

"Will ya bloody quit it?" she said hoarsely, the noise of his arrival making her head pound.

"You're awake," he stated plainly.

To be honest he didn't know _what_ to think. He wasn't relived that she was moving, least of all talking, but he wasn't annoyed either. He hadn't wanted her _dead_, but she certainly deserved to suffer.

"No thanks to you," she spat back at him.

Her tone of voice surprised him. He wasn't used to her challenging him, even in times like this.

The woman was in the worst of moods, her head throbbing and her face still burning and now, undoubtably, bruising. She was fuming as she realized he couldn't care less about her injury. How _dare_ he hit her! She found it excessively hard to deal with her newfound emotions and she struggled to fight back the tears prickling in her eyes. The pair stared blankly at each other, each trying to figure out the other as a deathly silence consumed the moment.

She opened her mouth to speak, but reconsidered the idea. He would be the first to speak this time. She was not giving in.

"What do you want?" he sneered at her.

"Apology'd be nice," she said coldly, he tone again surprising the man.

"I am not," he growled at her, "apologizing."

"You could 'ave bloody killed me!" she yelled, her voice threatening to give way to hysterics again.

"You tried to take Lucy's place!" he yelled back at her, his anger quickly surfacing.

"I would never, Ben, you _know_ that," she said, lowering her voice in an attempt to gain control of it. The baker nearly choked on her last words as she realised her mistake.

His eyes flickered with silent rage at the mention of his previous identity. He slowly advanced on her trembling form. The widow trembled, not with fear of the barber, but with the pure shock of her emotions. She had never felt so angry, so hurt, or so out of control. It scared her.

"Do _not_ speak that mans name to me," he sneered, "or next time you won't be so lucky as to wake up!"

He advanced towards her trembling form, still sitting awkwardly against the wall. He pulled her up to face him roughly and pulled his razor from its holster. She didn't flinch.

"You wouldn't kill me Mr.T. You need me," she hissed at him, her temper pushing his.

"Not," he sneered at her, "for the reasons you'd like me to."

She shouldn't have been surprised by his comment, but she couldn't help she shock that hit her smack in the face at his words. She'd realized he knew the power her held over her a long time ago: she didn't exactly go out of her way to hide it. But his acknowledgment of it startled her. It proved that he knew and didn't care. It hurt her that he could dismiss her longings with a threat. He placed the razor back it its holster. She was right, he wouldn't kill her. Yet.

"Stop pretending I want you," he seethed, "I don't."

The baker would have retorted, had she not noticed his hand swinging dangerously towards her left. She ducked and quickly twirled away, struggling to regain her balance. She turned back to him.

"Bastard!" she screamed at him, before turning out of the door into the cold, dark, street. She ignored the dreadful chill in the air as she passed into the streets. She needed to get away.

The widow walked blindly through the twisting streets of London, silver tears clouding her vision to a dull blur. Her heart was hammering in her small frame, the pounding beats drowning out the busy hustle of the night-markets. Taking no notice of her surroundings, the woman walked on and on, past the market, past the church, past the courthouse and past the familiar center clock. She wandered aimlessly, her mind reeling. On and on she walked, with no idea where she was headed. She didn't care. She needed to get away from him.

She turned the corner, spying what looked like a fountain. Her bones weren't as young as they used to be and despite her flustered state, she found herself suddenly overcome with exhaustion. The baker found her way to the edge of the water feature and rested. She sat, unable to move, totally consumed by her mind. She shuddered as she succumbed to herself, letting the tears flow freely from her hazel eyes. She cursed aloud. She hated him. She _swore_ she hated him. He had threatened her before, even hurt her before, but never like this. He'd _meant _to hurt her, possibly more than he had. Then again, she had annoyed him before, but he'd never reacted like _that._ She had never seen him like that. Never. It scared her. He had injured her without a second thought, and it hurt her that he could leave her for dead with no remorse at all. He was her heaven, and yet every day he put her through hell. He was her world and he couldn't care less.

She shuddered violently as another wave of pain overtook her. She could see his eyes, cold, hate-filled and unforgiving, turned on her. She could feel his stare piercing her very soul as she'd fled from the shop. She _did_ hate him. He played her well, he knew he could break her. The man twisted and tied her heart into knots that not even a sailor could undo. _He_ was the reason she cried herself to sleep each night in those painful fits of longing. _He_ was the reason she occasionally glanced longingly at his precious friends, silently wishing he would one day act upon his threats. _He_ was the reason she couldn't be happy. She would never be happy. Yet with every scream, every tear, every liquid ruby that fell to the floor, she forgave him. She hated herself for it. She knew she should leave, let him fend for himself, but she couldn't. He didn't deserve her, she knew that, but she wanted him, so badly it hurt. She knew the reason his rage fits and outbursts tormented her. She knew why his ignoring her, his not caring if she lived or died, hurt her so much. She knew it was because she didn't, and could never, hate him. No, she loved him. More than herself, more than Toby, more than the sea. More than anything_. _If she didn't, she wouldn't care how badly he treated her, she could leave without bleeding inwardly: but _oh_, how she did. No matter how hard she tried to hate him, she never could. It was impossible. She was trapped. He would forever be her last thought every night, and her first every morning.

"Bloody bastard," she muttered to herself.

She sighed, a bastard he may be, but she couldn't live without the man, she knew that much.


	7. Letters From the Seaside

_She sighed, a bastard he may be, but she couldn't live without the man, she knew that much.._

Chapter Seven

Mrs. Lovett wiped her teary eyes, knowing she had better head for home. She looked around at her surroundings, for the first time realizing where she was. The fountain behind her flowed effortlessly, as she had seen it do many times before. She wondered how the water could run so wildly, so carefree in the dreary streets. How could it be so pure and unaffected by its surroundings? She shook her head, God, she was beginning to _think _like him! She laughed half-heartedly seeing her disheveled reflection. She was a mess! She gazed into the fountain, suddenly lost in the crystal-clear pureness of the water. It was perfect, too perfect. She'd never liked perfection. She'd wasted so many dreams on the idea of her _perfect_ life. Every time she'd chanced to believe she really _was_ going to get her perfect ending, she'd had it ripped out from under her feet. And each time, she ended up miles and miles away from where she'd begun. She shook her head, she _hated_ perfection. Lucy had been perfect, and she hated her for it. Peering deeper into the water, she ran her eyes over the bottom, scanning for something, anything that would make the feature less perfect. She found nothing.

"Bloody fountain-" she started, suddenly interrupted as her eyes fixed on a slight golden glint beneath the water.

She focused on the gold object, recognizing it with a pain. Lucy's charm. She had thrown it in there years ago, in a fit of frustration and heartbreak. She reached into the icy water, pulling out the small, heart shaped charm. She ran her fingers over the faint engraving, recognizing the initials easily. _L.P_ She clenched the charm tightly, her emotions surging once again. In one swift movement, she threw the heart back into the icy depths of the fountain. She couldn't take it back. She couldn't forgive, and she wouldn't forget. When the baker had brought Lucy to London, Mrs. Lovett knew her life would never be the same. She shook her head. God she was right. She sighed, remembering her fatal letter to the then Miss Patton..

_Dearest Lucy,_

Such a long time between letters dearie! I've been so busy down here, I hope you will forgive me. How are you love? I trust your mother is in good health still? All is well here, although business is a little slow. Oh! How is my dear little angel Adele? You still see her I assume, being her neighbour. Oh but I daresay she is not so little anymore, what will she be? Ten? Yes, she will be ten in April, my goodness! Dear, can you believe it has been five years since I have seen you? Far too long! I fear I should never be able to leave my shop long enough to visit you at the seaside. You are so lucky to be able to stay up there! I remember it being such a lovely place when we were younger. Well love, I have a proposition for you. How would you like to come down here and stay the month with me? Please do! I miss you greatly, and there will be a splendid summer party where I will introduce you to everyone! Oh and I have met the most charming young man! Well, truly, I've known him a lot longer than I say, but I did not wish to excite you! He is the most handsome, good humoured, gentle, and polite man I have ever met. And I have met a few. Oh Lucy, if I only knew what love was then I could say I felt so for him, for I am sure I must! My heart skips when I see him, and his voice warms me in ways I cannot begin to describe! I even venture to think that he may feel for me too! I think I shall burst from excitement dear! You must come! Please hurry your reply and I will make all the arrangements.

My best wishes and love,

_Nellie Lovett._

She had waited day in and day out for a reply from her dear friend, checking the post ritually for nearly two weeks. Excited, she would run to the post each day and each time she returned more disappointed than the last. She eventually gave up the anxious wait, until Benjamin himself came in with a letter for her. Taking the letter with a smile, she eagerly tore at the seal, opening the letter to reveal the familiar cursive writing of Lucy Patton. He watched her with a smile as her eyes grew wide with joy.

_My dearest Nellie_

How wonderful it has been to hear from you! I must admit, I thought you had quite forgotten me. Well, busy you say, but I know you far better. If anything, my Nellie has been smitten! Rightfully so, if this gentleman is so dashing as you make him out to be. You think he may match your own affections? Of course! Who could resist you my dear? I do not blame you for chasing after him, rather than corresponding with me, you are forgiven. I am well, as is mother, though Adele, ten in April (you _do_ have a sharp memory!) has moved to Scotland with her family. As for your proposition, I would be happy to oblige. I have missed you greatly. I do hope five years have not changed you too much, though I suppose you may find me a trifle changed. Shall I see you in say, two weeks? Send me details and I will oblige.

Your friend,

_Lucy Patton_

Nellie squealed in delight, before turning to face the doorway, where Benjamin was still standing. She laughed excitedly, running a finger through her loose auburn curls. He watched her, quite alarmed by her sudden excitement, fearing she may faint from the blood-rush. She _did _feel giddy, the idea of her friend coming to London and meeting the man she so adored making her smile.

"Whatever is in that letter Nellie?" said man asked, a little confused.

She could hardly contain herself, nor control her voice as she attempted to explain.

"My old friend, from the sea, oh heavens! So much to prepare! My childhood friend, Lucy Patton, she is coming, and in time for the dance! Oh! I haven't seen her in years!"

She finished speaking, flushed, and quite out of breath. She poured herself a small glass of gin, desperately in need of refreshment. He smiled at her, having never seen her so excited.

"Wonderful!" he beamed, "She will come to the dance then?"

"Oh yes," she replied hurriedly, "that's where you'll meet her!"

He only smiled at her, ushering her towards a chair, just in case she _did _faint. She obeyed gladly, the skirt of her dress pleating softly as she sat.

"Ben, can you grab me my pen and paper? I need to reply quickly!"

He fetched her best writing paper, and his own finest pen, seeing as hers were nearly dry of ink. He handed her the rose-scented paper and the jet-black pen, and sat down beside her to watch her write.

"Do you think she could come in a week?" she asked hopefully.

"No my dear, we need to prepare for her arrival and a week is not long enough. Two weeks is far more practical," he answered, though knowing it was not the answer she wanted to hear.

"Oh," she replied flatly, obviously disappointed by his logical reply. They sat in total silence, until with a spark of realisation, she continued.

"Of course! Then she will arrive the night before the dance, and I will keep her hidden, so it really _will_ be her introduction!"

She beamed at him, her plans falling together neatly in her mind.

"Perfect," he replied beaming back at her. Sometimes he truly didn't know if his Nellie was a genius or simply crazy. She certainly made it difficult to tell.

She finished the letter, her eyes shining with excitement that she simply could not suppress. The dates were confirmed with a nod from her tenant, and she smile triumphantly as she sealed the letter. As she stood to walk about the room she heard him stifle a chuckle and quickly turned to him, her auburn curls twirling wildly through the air.

"What?" she asked, still grinning.

"You're crazy Nellie," he said giving her a cheeky grin.

She smiled at him, before twirling away.

"I know," she giggled.

He made a lunge for her, only managing to brush the skirt of her dress as she sidestepped his arms. She shrieked with laughter at his poor attempt to stop her.

"You're gonna have to be quicker than that!" she giggled, grabbing the letter from the table. He shook his head at her. She _was_ crazy.

He lunged for her again, this time catching her off-guard and capturing her in his arms. Nellie felt the breath being sucked out of her as her back hit his chest. For a second she was quiet, not trusting herself to speak. As soon as she had recovered, she predictably fought back.

"Let me go!" she shrieked happily, hoping that he never would.

"Never!" he laughed back, enjoying his game.

She fought against him, flailing her arms about like a maniac, but she was unsuccessful. He held her tighter, pulling her closer to him, for a moment stopping all of Nellie's movements. She felt a familiar heat rise to her cheeks. She loved the way he felt around her and it took all of her self-control not to quiver at his close touch. She attempted to wriggle her way out, but he held her too tight to allow any movement.

"I'll- I'll…I'll call the police! Help!" she yelled teasingly.

"You wouldn't dare," he whispered, trying to sound as threatening as possible.

His deep yet silky soft voice whispered so smoothly in her ear sent shivers down her spine. It was _these_ moments she'd remember for the rest of her life.

She splayed her arms out in another pointless attempt to break free. He grabbed her arms, and pushed them back to her sides, all the while keeping his grip on her. He forced her arms behind her back, and, misjudging his strength, grabbed a little too hard.

"Ow!" she squealed, before pulling from him and grabbing her writs.

He instantly released her, turning her shoulders towards him. He stood facing her.

"Did I hurt you?"

She was touched by the honest concern that flowed through his voice. All traces of pain flew from her body as she looked into his eyes.

"Only a little," she spoke softly, her voice barely and audible whisper.

She flexed her wrist a little, to prove her point, smiling in spite of the hidden pain. Unconvinced her took her arm and slowly moved her wrist around, twisting her hand in all directions. The warmth of his hand on hers brought yet another hot flush to her cheeks, but it was not enough to let her ignore the pain of her bruised wrist. She let out a small yelp as he twisted her hand to the right.

"I _did _hurt you!"

"It's just a bruise, I'll be fine," she replied.

It did hurt, but she'd broken bones before and survived, she could certainly handle a bad bruise. She couldn't see why he was being so silly about it, but she was glad that he cared enough to be worried.

"Nellie I'm so sorry-" he started, before being interrupted by a smiling Nellie.

"It's fine Ben. I'm fine. I suppose I _was_ a little over excited."

"A little? God Nellie, I thought you might faint!"

She smiled wryly at him, waving the letter in front of him. She hadn't forgotten their game.

"You haven't won yet!" she laughed at him.

He sighed, knowing he was going to get no sense out of her today, if ever. He feared he would never understand her, and yet, she was so simple: child-like, playful, excitable and perhaps a little naiive. He stepped forward, catching her off-guard once again and pulled her into a bear hug.

"I have now," he spoke, smiling into her hair.

She sighed inwardly, he certainly had. She stayed still a moment, soaking him in before finally and unwillingly struggling against him. She dropped the precious envelope in her struggle and both watched silently, frozen, as the paper floated effortlessly to the floor. She jolted the second it hit the ground and tried to reach the letter, only to be restrained by strong arms. He released her, laughing at her childishness. She kneeled to the floor, picked up the letter and sprung back up on one swift movement. She smiled contently, having the paper back in her hand. He shook his head, laughing at her. He could not comprehend how such a little thing, a letter, could seem so important. But remembering that it _was_ Nellie, he figured he had best keep his mouth shut, he was already puzzled enough. _She_ however, could not let his mind be at rest.

"Stop laughing! What's so funny?"

As he told her his thoughts, she was silent, remaining so for a few moments, not quite able to form a response. Suddenly, she brightened.

"Well, if you had spent five long years away from someone you loved, you'd be excited too!"

"To the point of worshiping a letter?" he asked with a smile.

She only smiled, not bothering with a reply.

"What is she like?" he replied, "Lucy, that is."

"Oh you'll just have to wait and see!" she said cheerfully, the thought of her friend meeting him making her heart race. She started towards the door, before being interrupted.

"Is she like you?" he asked, though he knew that nobody could be anything like his Nellie.

"Oh heavens no!" she laughed, as though it was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, "for a start, she's much prettier than me!"

He simply laughed.

"I doubt it my dear, nobody shines quite like you Nellie," he said smiling at her.

She ignored his generous flattering, though she felt herself bubble at his words. She blushed, but continued unwavered.

"She has long, blonde hair, fair skin, beautiful eyes, and a soft voice. She's a little taller than me. She is polite, but opinionated. Oh, and she has the biggest smile," she spoke quickly, words falling from her mouth before she knew what she was saying.

He looked at her, quite astounded at her detailed description. Five years had not tarnished the sharp detail in her memory.

"After that report, I'm not so sure I want to meet her. She sounds positively intimidating!" he said, though knowing she was exaggerating in the mind of flattering her friend.

"Oh but she isn't! You'll just love her Ben, I just know you will!" she shouted as she twirled out of the door, hurrying to the post box.

The widow sighed, a splash of cold water hitting her as a small boy threw a stone into the fountain. The cold splash startled her, stirring her from her memories. She sighed, glancing up at the dark sky. She had always known that he would love her, but what she hadn't counted on, was just how much.


	8. A Penny for the Child

_

* * *

_

Chapter Eight

* * *

_..She sighed, glancing up at the dark sky; she had always known he would love her, but what she hadn't counted on, was just how much…_

Mrs. Lovett walked past the street lamp on the corner, pausing to check her direction. She glanced back towards the church, as the clock tower struck twelve. Had she really been gone that long? She hadn't checked the time when she'd left the barber, being too shaken to care, but she knew it had been no later than nine-thirty. Surely she must have heard wrong; she couldn't have been away for over two hours. A young boy passed her, a small, scrawny thing, and she turned to follow him.

"You!" she shouted.

The boy froze in his tracks, and slowly turned to her. She could hardly believe how small he was. He was tiny, even smaller than her Toby.

"Yes ma'am?" he half whispered, his voice hoarse from the harsh cold.

"What's the time dearie?" she spoke as warmly as she could manage, feeling a surge of compassion for the boy.

"I believe it 'as jus' struck twelve ma'am."

She cursed under her breath; she _had_ been away that long.

"Thanks dearie," she said, handing him a penny, "'ere ya go, buy yerself somethin' ta eat in the mornin'"

The boy's eyes widened at the sight of the coin. He reached out tentatively, snatching the coin from her outstretched hand.

"Thank ya ma'am!" he spoke hurriedly, before turning and racing down the dark street.

"Poor thing," she muttered to herself, starting on her way again.

An hour later, the widow was still raoming the streets. Mrs. Lovett scowled at herself; she'd left the fountain long ago, and yet, as she rounded the corner, her eyes once again rested on its familiar structure. She wasn't lost; she knew exactly where she was. She'd been there hundreds of times before. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't find her way home, if one could call it that. That dark, cold, stale-smelling and lonely building she lived in was hardly a home. Her shop, bare, cold and dusty, was hardly a shop. She hated it there, and yet she loved it. It made no sense to her, and yet it was that sense exclusively, which tied her to her emporium. She loved running her own business; Mrs. Lovett was never one to be dependent, and she loved the fact that she collected through her _own_ honest work. She smiled; she supposed her work wasn't _entirely _honest. But with every advantage there came a downfall; she was alone; utterly companionless as she worked. She hated it. Even with Toby there _some_ of the time, she was lonely. He was usually kept just as busy as she was during the rushes, and he could _never_ accompany her down to the bakehouse. She was isolated for most of the day; it was a bloody lonely job. But it was a part of her, and leaving it would surely mean leaving herself. She would not leave; she _couldn't_. Sweeney wouldn't leave either, he couldn't, and if he was there, then she supposed it _was_ her home. After all, home is where the heart is, and her heart was no place other than in his hands. No matter how miserable, cold and unfeeling the house may be, he would _always_ be there, matching the dark buildings characteristics faultlessly, so she _must _be there. She had to be there, if not for his sake, then for her own. A familiar pain seared through her at the thought of the barber. One which she had felt many times before and would many times again; a pain of helplessness, anguish, loneliness and fear. She thought it unfair that one person could live their life in vain, constantly reaching for the unreachable. It was unjust that she was doomed to be trampled, broken, without anyone to care for her. Sweeney was right, justice needed to be dispensed, but she doubted the world would care to listen to the woes of a widowed baker. It was the way of the world; some worked for their living, others never lifted a finger. Some were born beautiful, and others had to make do with what they had. Some got their happy ending, and others had to sit and watch as theirs was stolen away from them. It _was _unfair. But it was life. She had to deal with it.

"Shit," she breathed, nearly tripping over one of the poor souls who lay on the sidewalk. She sighed; she was better off than _some_ at least.

She knew Sweeney was right. There really _was_ no place like London. She gritted her teeth bitterly as she remembered the incidents that had lead her into the streets. She felt hot tears stinging in her eyes as she remembered the complete anguish she had felt. She shook her head; why the hell did she want to cry? She shuddered as she felt another wave of pain wash over her. She _was _angry with him for the bruises he'd put on her body. She _was _annoyed at his pleasure in her pain. But she her anger was not what pained her. It was not anger that made her want to fall to the ground and let the tears stream down. It was not anger that made her weak, but forgiveness. She was hurt that he could injure her so carelessly, but she expected it. What hurt her the most was that she let him get away with it. She always had, and undoubtedly always would. He couldn't break her, no, she was too strong for that, but he could twist her into unimaginable positions, until she wished she _could_ snap. She loathed the way she let him slide. She knew she should yell back at him, scream just as loudly as he did or run before she collided with the wall. But she didn't. Each time she'd swear she hated him, but in half an hour, she forgave him with all of her heart; her damn, twisted, broken heart. She wanted to hate him. She wished she could. She didn't _want_ to forgive him. She wanted nothing more than to waltz right out of his life, never to see him again, but she simply couldn't. She hated how she let him walk all over her; but she loved the man, what could she do?

Mrs. Lovett's heart twisted with concern, worry overtaking her pain for the moment. She had left him alone for an awfully long time. She hated to leave him alone long, if at all. She dared to believe that he was always better off where she was around. She mused herself in thinking that her presence somehow calmed him. After all, she _was_ his only companion. She shook her head; she was his only _living _companion, his 'friends' were of course his others. Those bloody, shining, cold, merciless scraps of metal. She resented them. He would sooner kiss his beloved friends than her. She shook her head, clearing away her anger; God, she was jealous of several pieces of shining metal. She smiled; they certainly couldn't _talk _like her. Nobody could talk like her. She supposed she _must _be more company that his bloody razors; they didn't feed him, or clean up after him, or shop for him, or cook for him. She did _everything_ for him, what would he do without her? Soon, with a stab of realization, she reminded herself. Nothing. He would do absolutely nothing. He'd just sit there, staring at some imaginary mark on the wall. Or he'd stand and peer all day long out of that bloody window. As usual, he'd just stay in his shop and brood. He would carry on living, while she withered away in her memories. And indeed he did.

Sitting silently in his room, Mr. Todd _was _alone, seeing as Toby had not come home that night; and he _was_ living, barely. Truth be told he certainly was enjoying her not being there. No, not enjoying, but her certainly cherished the absence of her voice. He didn't _always _like silence, but for now, he was content with it. In the eerie quietness, he could immerse himself in his dark thoughts. Not that his thoughts were a very enjoyable place to be; before long, he found himself pulled into one of his bitter moods again.

--


	9. Irreparably Broken

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

..As usual, he'd just stay in his shop and brood. He would carry on living, while she withered away in her memories. And indeed he did…

Seated yet again at the familiar fountain, Mrs. Lovett stared into the rippling water, her mind once again in another world. Peering into the coolness of the liquid, she hardly noticed as a small boy approached her.

"Excuse me ma'am?" the very shy voice questioned.

The woman jumped a little, startled by the boy.

"What is it dearie?" she said wearily, not bothering to face the child.

"I'm looking for…" he trailed off, as the baker turned to face him, "oh! Mum!"

"Toby? What are ya doin' out 'ere?! It's after twelve!"

She had missed him in the morning, and when he had not returned she'd been lonely, a cheery face was always needed in the shop, and today especially was in need of cheering.

"I missed ya today at the shop, where 'av ya bin?"

"Well," he begun, "Mr.T sent me to deliver something to the sailor boy, an' I figured, well, seeing as you wasn't up, I could stay out for a while. I came back for lunch, but the shop was closed so I stayed out some more. Sorry mum," he looked at her apologetically.

"It's alright dear, we was closed most the day. Me poor bones needed a good ol' rest."

"And you wasn't home when I got back, around ten, so I came out 'ere, to look for ya."

"Oh, well I just came out 'ere for some fresh air, must 'av forgotten the time, jus' like you."

The boy stayed silent, wanting, but not daring, to question her. He studied his adoptive mothers face, she looked tired. Very tired. Her hair was even _more_ disarrayed than usual and her eyes were swollen and red. He could make out the tear streaks glittering on her pale cheeks.

"Mum, you alright?"

The baker, suddenly realising how terrible her appearance must be, turned away for the boy.

"Yes love, I'm fine. Jus' came out for a walk is all."

Toby wasn't convinced, but he trusted her more than _anything_.

"Oh."

She turned back to him, flashing a quick smile.

"Mum?"

"Hmm?"

"It's just…'e didn't 'urt ya did 'e?"

He'd wanted to know the _real_ answer to that question hundreds of times, but he knew well enough that she would never confess, even if he _did_ hurt her. And he didn't have the heart to doubt her.

Toby didn't understand why she wouldn't tell him, or why his mum continued to wait on Mr. Todd, but he had decided long ago that it wasn't worth asking her about it, and it certainly wasn't worth troubling Mr. Todd about.

"Goodness no! Dear me, 'ow can you think such a thing!?" she lied efficiently, hoping her voice wouldn't give way to the choked back tears threatening to spill at any moment.

"Sorry mum," he mumbled.

"Now, why don't you head on home then, an' get some rest, 'stead of 'anging 'round 'ere like a lost duck?"

"But you-"

"I'll be back by mornin' love, I just need some time alone alrigh'?"

"Alright mum," he said turning away from her and starting his journey home.

The baker sighed heavily as soon as his back was turned. Toby quickly retraced his steps, flinging his arms around his beloved guardian in a loving hug.

"I love you mum," he said quietly, wishing he could somehow lessen her not-so-effectively hidden pain.

"I know love," she said, her voice straining against the threatened tears, "you too, now run along!"

Toby gave his beloved mother a tight squeeze before jumping down from the fountain and running down the street, eager for the slight warmth of the sofa he called his bed.

As soon as the boy was out of sight, she let herself be overcome by her emotions. She sobbed, shaking violently; God, what was _wrong_ with her? She felt awful, her mind vivid with the events of the evening. Her beloved barber, who had caused such events, was just as engaged in his thoughts.

Mr. Todd sat, unmoving, on the cold, hard floor. He was frozen, unable to move from his rather uncomfortable position, to his slightly more comfortable barber chair. He clenched his teeth, trying desperately not to shiver from the cold. He stared at the wall, his eyes burning holes in the peeling wallpaper. His expression was blank and unchanging, but his eyes flashed with lightning strikes of anger. His mind was racing, jumping from each painful thought to the next; Lucy- Judge- Lucy- Johanna- Judge- Beadle- Lucy- Beadle- Judge- Johanna- _Mrs. Lovett_-. He gritted his teeth at the thought of her. How dare she impose on his personal boundaries, she _knew_ the rules. How dare she even think he needed her, he shuddered; or wanted her. If she wasn't so damn practical he would have done her off a long time ago. How dare she try to become, _replace_, his Lucy; his dear, sweet, innocent Lucy.

_Your dear, sweet, __dead__ Lucy._

He shook this thought off. She was _not_ dead. She still lived as long as he did; he would keep her alive. Mrs. Lovett was always reminding him that his wife was gone, and each time, he wanted nothing more that to slit her throat wide open. But he refrained from doing so. She was his business partner, and he couldn't do without her. But that was all she was. She couldn't replace Lucy, ever. How dare she even chance to _dream_ such a thing. She couldn't heal him. She couldn't mend his severed heart. She couldn't even _touch_ his heart, let alone undo the many knots which had formed in it over the years. No, it was only to be touched by Lucy, and now, with her undeniably gone, it was damned to remain irreparably broken; cursed to beat forever on its own.

--


	10. Waiting for the Dance

_

* * *

_

Chapter Ten

* * *

_..As soon as the boy was out of sight, she let herself be overcome by her emotions. She sobbed, shaking violently; God, what was wrong with her? She felt awful, her mind vivid with the events of the evening. Her beloved barber, who had caused such events, was just as engaged._

_She couldn't even __touch__ his heart, let alone undo the many knots which had formed in it over the years. No, it was only to be touched by Lucy and now, with her undeniably gone, it was damned to remain irreparably broken; cursed to beat forever on its own…_

Mrs. Lovett could hardly remember that last time she'd felt like this. Her head was pounding sharply and her throat was dry and scratchy. Everything hurt. She slowly opened her eyes, the glare of the sunlight making her dizzy. Slowly, she adjusted to the light; it really wasn't _that_ bright, only a dull glow from the horizon, but her head span nonetheless. She rose somewhat painfully, and made her way over to the fountain. Her body protested with every tiny step that edged her closer to the feature. Somehow, she'd moved from the fountain, and found herself asleep on the bench, but now awake, the woman could hardly remember how she'd gotten there. She was drowsy, and looking towards the dim sunlight, she figured she must have slept for around four hours, seeing as it was just nearly dawn. She splashed some water on her face, the icy cold liquid making her shiver. Suddenly, she looked up. It was quiet; almost _too_ quiet. She should be hearing the sweet trills of the morning birds; but there was nothing. The street behind her was almost deserted, where it should have been scattered with early shoppers. It was empty and decidedly cold. It was odd; she was usually wakened by the merchant cries at dawn on Wednesday mornings, but she heard no cries, no desperate pleas for sales. Even the street dwellers were missing, and they were always roaming the streets long before anyone else, crying for food or shelter. The was nothing, naught but a cold wind that made the baker shiver. Then, with a sudden glance at the sky, the widow realised that it was not dawn. In the passing minutes it had grown increasingly darker, the light now barley a dim glow. She glanced around her. Heavens, she had slept through the entire day! It was not dawn, but dusk.

"Damn it," she breathed.

She looked around her, trying to get her bearings straight; the streets of London never did agree with her at night. She stood, deciding it best to _try_ and find her way back to her shop. She looked forward with a pained expression, her body still ached, evidence of her toils the night before. A spark of worry shot through the woman; she'd left Sweeney alone the _entire_ day. He wouldn't have eaten, or washed, or even had his drink. Not without her there to force him. She shook her head; God, he was like a child. She shook her head; he was bloody lucky to have her around.

"Not that he give's a damn," she muttered as she kicked a stone from her path.

The man couldn't be trusted to look after himself, let alone the boy. Oh the poor dear! She was sure the small lad must be terrified, all alone in the dreary shop. The baker scowled at herself, she shouldn't have left him there by himself. Even _she_ found the place a little eerie at times, and she hated to think what it must seem like for an eleven year old child. Slowly but surely, the drowsy woman began her journey home to her dull, dismal shop.

She walked endlessly, desperately trying to retrace her steps of the night before. The shadowy streets of London made it extremely difficult for the middle-aged woman to navigate, and she found herself taking random turns, in the hopes that they would somehow lead her home. As the woman walked, she pondered the hours of Lucy's arrival; trying to recall _anything_ that could have served as a warning. It was only fair that she should have been warned. She sighed inwardly as she remembered the busy evening; she knew better than anybody, life most certainly was not fair.

Nellie Lovett had _somehow_ managed to keep her guest hidden for the entire day, and was now nearly bursting with excitement at the thought of the dance later that evening. Just half an hour before the event, she was flitting about excitedly, not unlike a child on Christmas eve. She was still not dressed for the party, and her hair was still a mass of auburn curls.

"Nellie what _are_ you doing?" a familiar voice sounded from the door.

"Oh! Ben! What are you doing here?" she said, flustered.

"Waiting for you my dear," he smiled, "are you coming with me?"

Under normal circumstances, she would have accepted his offer with upmost joy, and she thoroughly hated the fact that she must turn him down; she did have a guest to attend to after all.

"No thankyou," she smiled back, "Lucy and I have already hired a coach to share."

"Oh Lucy! Where is she? I _demand_ you introduce me at once!" he teased.

"We'll meet you at the party," she laughed, "you can wait."

Benjamin laughed half-heartedly; he was tired of waiting. She had stayed with her guest the entire time since Lucy had arrived, keeping her out of his sight and tending to her guests every need. He figured that as soon as Lucy was allowed to meet with the public, he would have his Nellie back; he really didn't like the fact that she'd been stolen from him for such a long time. Determined to have her for himself for at least _some_ of the night, he grabbed hold of her hand.

"I hope my dear, that you will save at least _one_ dance for me?"

She couldn't help the smile which graced her features at his offer; she would save _every_ dance for him if he'd asked it.

"Of course!" she replied, blushing.

"Good," he smiled, "God woman! Are you getting dressed?" he said suddenly, as both coaches pulled up outside.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly throwing herself into action.

"I'll see you there!" he shouted, shaking his head as he left the building; she really _was_ insane.

She quickly ran to her room and began to untie the laces of her working clothes, slipping into a new, rather flattering dress. She smiled as she pulled on her black gloves; she'd blown almost a months worth of earnings on the outfit, but it was worth it. The black and crimson material contrasted perfectly with her pale skin, yet at the same time combined harmoniously with her auburn curls, and the soft material flowed effortlessly from her womanly features. She fussed over her hair for the remaining fifteen minutes before fastening it with a crimson ribbon, leaving a few loose curls to frame her face delicately. As she headed through the door, she caught a glimpse of her over-exposed chest, vowing to buy herself some kind of necklace to ornament the pale area. She quickly rushed to the parlour to collect her friend; the girl dressed in a beautiful baby-blue gown that made her simply glow with beauty. The pair giggled like schoolgirls as they settled into the coach, each equally nervous and excited for the night ahead.

Mrs. Lovett scowled as she tripped on the entrance to her (finally reached) pie shop; it seemed she'd had a lot more to be nervous about than she'd thought. She stepped through the pie emporium's entrance wearily, moving over the chair and flopping down; she was exhausted.

"Toby!" she called. Hearing no response, she called louder.

"Toby! Be a darl' an' grab us some gin will ya?!"

"Mum?" the wide eyed boy questioned from the doorway.

"It's me love," she spoke warmly.

"Oh mum!" he beamed, running towards her.

The small boy leaped up to her lap, engulfing her in his thin arms. Mrs. Lovett smiled; at least _someone_ cared. She pulled back from the now sobbing child, a rather perplexed look on her face.

"What's the ma'er love?"

"I-you-I-I-," he stuttered, unable to form words between his sobs.

"Easy love," she cooed, pulling him into her, somehow sensing it was the right thing to do.

"I thought you wasn't coming back," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled into the boys ruffled hair.

"I ain't goin' anywhere love," she said as the boy hugged her tight.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The two stayed like that for a long moment, the silence whispering things that words could not begin to describe. The boys heart calmed; she was back, she was safe, everything was going to be alright. He relaxed his arms around her, now confident that she would not fade away. She sighed; maybe the world wasn't all _that_ bad.

"I love you mum," he whispered hoarsely.

Her heart swelled, his honest words giving her strength. Maybe Sweeney was wrong; maybe they didn't _all_ deserve to die. There was some good left in the world, however small and insignificant it may be, it was there. She would cling to it until her being ceased to exist. She knew her mood wouldn't last forever, that she'd soon enough believe the world was the black pit it seemed to be, that she couldn't keep up her happy views forever; but for the moment, she would remain happily on the green side of the fence.

"You too love, now c'mon, I need to get Mr.T 'is dinner."

The boy looked at her warily.

"Mum, you know-,"

"Oh hush dearie, c'mon, off you pop," she said, shifting her position in the chair to rise. She clenched her teeth; she was not going to talk about it.

The boy gave her a tight squeeze before jumping from her lap.

"Go to bed love," she instructed, "ya look 'alf dead."

"But mum," he whined, "it's only eight-thirty."

"You were out late last night, off you go, if you get a good nights rest I was thinkin' of takin' ya out to Hyde Park tomorrow."

"Alright mum," he said excitedly.

She sighed as she took an actual _meat_ pie from the oven for Mr. Todd; she was not looking forward to this.

--


	11. Mind the Sarcasm, Love

_

* * *

_

Chapter Eleven

_

* * *

_

_..She sighed as she took an actual __meat__ pie from the oven for Mr. Todd; she was __not__ looking forward to this…_

Above the now occupied pie emporium, the sullen barber congratulated himself; his predictions had been correct. Mr. Todd was a smart man, despite his fast disappearing sanity, and he had known that the baker would not disappear altogether. He knew her far to well to think for a mere second that she would leave the two of them alone. She loved the small lad to much to even consider forcing him on his own again and himself, well, he knew her affections as far as _that_ matter was concerned. He knew she'd never leave, no matter how incessantly he turned her away, she'd always be there the next day; _always_. Why? He didn't know; didn't _want_ to know. The barber had been surprised when she'd left the night before, and had been more or less astounded when he had not been the receiver of her annoyingly cheery morning chatter. But he had not allowed himself to feel concern. He felt no remorse for his actions; _none_. He did however feel the slightest twinge of guilt wash over him; he had hit a woman. He shook his head, chasing the emotion away; she was no _real_ woman, no lady. She was a slut, a whore, as foul and desperate as the beggars on the street. She deserved it; she deserved more. He should kill her, she was hardly worthy of living, taking up both his space and time; but he wouldn't. She was too practical, too damn sharp to lose. He snickered; besides, she did come with _other_ advantages.

"Whore indeed," he snarled, glaring at the fresh flowers she'd provided him with.

The small boy had of course come to him first, seeking an explanation for his mother's absence...

"Where is she?" he threatened, "what did you do to her?"

The barber sighed.

"Nothing that concerns you boy."

"Tell me or I'll-," the boy said, his fear for his guardian rising.

"You'll what? You couldn't harm me if you tried."

At that, the boy ran towards him, fists flying. Mr. Todd _nearly_ chuckled at the effort, as he stepped back from the fairy-fists which beat down on him.

"Lad-" he started.

"You 'urt 'er!" he yelled, his voice strained.

"I did nothing of the kind," he lied effortlessly, "she'll be back."

The boy straightened himself and exited the room, giving the barber one final glare of contempt.

Sweeney sighed as the boy left; he was not up for _another_ fight.

The man now set down his precious friend on the table, listening to the conversation below. True to his predictions, the woman had returned; a little later than expected, but she had returned nonetheless. He listened intently to the _supposedly_ heartwarming scene below, feeling nothing but disgust at the pair. Mr. Todd turned away from the door, realizing he was to become the next victim of the bakers presence. He cursed under his breath, silently hoping she would injure herself on the way up; anything that would prevent her from visiting him. But Sweeney Todd never got what he wanted.

"Brough' ya some dinner-" she said, cutting herself off before chiming in with the habitual 'love'.

He snickered; she was easy to tame _indeed_.

"You can put it back where it came from," he started bitterly, "I'm not eating it."

She glared at him, obviously offended.

"I'd like to put you bloody ol'…" she mumbled.

"What was that?" he asked, not missing a beat.

"I said I'd like to put you back where you bloody came from," she replied somewhat coldly.

"And sometimes so would I," he replied tartly.

His comment hurt the baker; the fact that he could prefer the harsh slave-torture of Australia, to her home offended her. She could feel herself growing angry; she'd kept this room for him all those years, and for what? A friend? A companion? _A lover?_ her mind added. She shook her head; no, she'd waited fifteen long, painful years for an empty shell of a man, bitter and cruel, with nothing but a cold stone for a heart. He saw the hurt flicker through her eyes, sneering to himself; he hadn't meant a word of it. Nothing, not even the repulsive widow, would drive him to return to that hell-hole. It seemed she didn't know him quite so well as she thought she did. The pair remained silent, a miracle on her behalf, until she turned to leave, placing the tray down on the table.

"How's your head?" he asked, his voice brimming with sarcasm.

She stared at him, believing for a moment that his words were of actual concern. She nearly hit herself for her foolishness; he didn't care. His words were meant to bite; to sting.

"Fine thankyou," she replied bitterly, "now if ya care to know, we're all of us off to Hyde Park tomorrow, and you're comin'" she finished, taking extra care to emphasise the latter point.

He ignored her, and she turned to leave, the dull throb of her not-so-fine head demanding rest. She sighed as she descended the stairs to her home below; how the hell was she meant to get him to Hyde Park on a Thursday morning?

--


	12. Friends are Forever

_

* * *

_

Chapter Twelve

* * *

_He ignored her, and she turned to leave, the dull throb of her not-so-fine head demanding rest. She sighed as she descended the stairs to her home below; how the hell was she meant to get him to Hyde Park on a Thursday morning?_

Mrs. Lovett smiled as she inhaled the cool, fresh air. A nights rest had done much to relieve her injuries, and she was back to her usual, chatty self. Surprisingly, it hadn't been _too_ much of an effort to drag the barber from his shop; she'd simply dragged him from the house, not taking no for an answer. The man had been caught off guard, and was out in society before he could protest. She smiled, it was a lovely day, a rarity in London. Mr. Todd however, was less than impressed. Why the hell had he let her drag him here? He glared at his surroundings, their perfection sickening. The lush, rolling hills did little to impress him and the cool air was sickly sweet to his senses. He longed for his dark, musty, bloodstained room. The widow beside him chattered idly, something about the clouds catching into the conversation, and he watched the small boy clinging to her every word. Ever since she'd returned the night before, the boy hadn't left her side, trailing after his adoptive-mother in a manner not unlike a puppy. He snickered; _pathetic_. The baker stopped her rambling for a second, and the small boy took the chance to speak.

"Mum, can I go off down to the lake?" he said.

"Now dearie," she started, in the sternest voice she could manage, "I already told ya-"

"_Please,_" he interrupted.

She sighed, he's be spoilt by the time he left her, she knew it; she simply couldn't say no. Thank heavens she didn't have her own children; they'd be ragged brats the lot of them. Even back _then_ she'd been a sucker for the little face; before she'd lost _that_ smile as well. She shook her head, chasing away her dark thoughts; today was much too nice of a day for dwelling on _those_ sorts of things. She sighed, turning to gaze at the barber; apparently it was the perfect conditions for _his_ brooding.

"Oh alright love," she said, turning back to the boy, "but don't ya go getting' all wet! D'ya 'ear me?!"

"Yes! I'll be as careful as ever! Thanks!"

"Alright, off ya run then," she said, though the boy was already long gone.

She sighed, half-grateful, and half-resentful of being left alone with the sullen barber. She hadn't spoken to him since the night before, and neither had spoken much even then. They sat in silence for some time; one feeling compelled, but unable to speak, and the other simply wishing he were anywhere but there.

"Mr. Todd?" she questioned, her voice cutting through the silence. He turned to her, an annoyed look taking over his face.

"What?" he replied.

She smiled inwardly; so he _was_ still talking to her.

"I was thinkin'," she started, ignoring the look of dread that came over him, "the next time I go to the market, wha' colour curtains should I be gettin'? Ya know, for that ol' window."

He simply stared at her, unable to believe her absurdity.

"I was thinkin'," she continued, trying to ignore his glare, "I might find somethin' to match that scrappy wallpaper-"

"Red," he cut in abruptly.

"Oh but Mr.T! Red will look right 'orrible against them dark walls!"

"Red," he broke in again, forcefully.

"Alright red it is then" she said in defeat. She smiled, almost cunningly; the fabric stall would have to be _conveniently_ out of red material.

"So anyways," she said with a casual twirl of her hair, "I ended up sellin' that nice brooch I found. Got I nice profit I did."

"Good," he responded, uninterested.

"So I was thinking," she continued, "I ought to buy meself a new dress, I 'aven't 'ad any nice ones for a while" she reasoned. She wasn't lying; she hadn't doted on herself since Benjamin had been stolen from her, and fifteen years was a rather _long_ while.

"D'ya think I should get a new pair o' boots too? For the winter months ya know?"

"Sure," he responded, though obviously not listening to a word she said. He frowned a little as his eyes caught just below her neck.

"Hmm…perhaps I could jus' do fine with the dress, these ol' boots will last a while longer."

He ignored her as she twittered on about her outfit, staring just above the woman's over-exposed chest; that necklace, he _knew_ that necklace.

"an' I best be buyin' one of them birds they got at the square, one of mine dropped the other day. Must be the smell, poor thing," she rambled on, "canary this time maybe?"

He ignored her. It was Lucy's necklace, he was sure of it. He'd seen it on her, or one just like it. No, he shook his head, it couldn't have been hers; emerald wouldn't have suited Lucy. Not like it did the baker.

"Wonder whatever 'appened to that Miss. Amblegrey, 'aven't seen 'er in a long while. What about the boy? Oh, what's 'is name?" she paused, brushing a curl behind her ear, blissfully unaware that she was conversing only with herself, "Joshua! That's it! So what about 'im, you seen 'im up in your shop?"

He ceased to frown at the accessory; _now_ he remembered. He, no, _Benjamin_ had given it to her. A gift, for her birthday; Johanna's birthday. He gazed at the jewel, it was certainly a lot more dazzling back then. He remembered her smile when she had opened the box, _that_ had been dazzling. She'd been happy then, when things were different. She'd changed, but then, so had he. It had all been so simple back then. His eyes sharpened; _too_ simple.

"Mr. Todd?" the widow questioned, her voice suspicious; accusing.

He shifted his gaze quickly, suddenly realizing where he _appeared_ to be staring.

"What?"

"'av you," she paused, unable to help but blush at where she'd mistaken his eyes to have been resting. She recollected herself, frowning at her reaction; she wasn't one for modesty, she'd proved that to him a long time ago.

"'av you seen Joshua up in your shop?"

"No."

"Oh, 'e must still be chasin' after 'er then. But I do miss seein' 'er around."

"You spoke to her once," he replied flatly.

"Twice actually. She's a friend."

"You haven't seen her for six weeks," he replied, sighing; he would never understand the woman.

"Friends are fore'er, no matter 'ow long they're split for," she said with a triumphant smile; she knew he couldn't fault her argument. _She_ however didn't believe a word of it; it had only taken a matter of time for her to lose Lucy's friendship.

He gave in; he hated to admit it, but the woman had a point. Fifteen years had passed, and he'd returned to his friends; still willing and waiting to do his bidding.

The two remained together the entire day, sometimes walking to stretch their legs, sometimes talking to break the silence, but mostly thinking, each in their own world. The sun began to set, and the baker stood.

"S'pose we best be 'eadin' 'ome then," she said.

The baker grunted in reply, rising.

"S'pose I'll go get Toby then," she said, reluctantly.

"Leave 'im," he said bluntly, " he'll come home when it's dark."

"But-,"

"He's not _five_ Mrs. Lovett."

She mumbled something of a disagreement under her breath, but did not reply, bending over to pack the basket. Soon, with everything packed, the two headed home, for once in complete silence.

--


	13. Routine and Protection

_

* * *

_

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

_.. Soon, with everything packed, the two headed home, for once, in complete silence…_

Mrs. Lovett paced anxiously along the length of her work bench, stopping now and then to pummel the life out of the floury pastry dough. Sweeney watched, smirking in amusement, the sight of the optimistic backer _pacing_ was something he'd thought he'd never live to see. He had her routine timed perfectly; the widow would pace four steps up and three back, then three steps up and four back, repeating the action five times. After pausing to brutalise the scant amount of unused pastry, she'd stop and fiddle with her hair, twisting the auburn locks anxiously; three twirls on the right, then she'd brush it behind her ear with her right hand. She'd bite her lip nervously, straighten out her workbench, and the routine would begin again.

And so it had been for the past two hours; her, continuing her anxious pacing, stopping only to speak to the barber occasionally, and him watching her with upmost curiosity. She almost scowled at his attentions, the moment she wasn't begging for it, he wouldn't take his eyes of her. He wouldn't leave her, and for once, she didn't delight in the fact.

"Where is he!?" she exclaimed, pulling at her hair once again.

The barber nearly chuckled; it had been exactly six minutes since she'd last spoken, she was right on cue.

"He'll be fine," he said forcefully.

"It's been two _hours_!" she said.

"And it's been exactly six minutes since you asked me the same damn question," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Im just worried!" she said, though her tone of voice suggested that she was far more than worried.

Mr. Todd sighed, he was sick of it.

"God woman, he's not your bloody son."

"Well he's as close as I've ever gotten!" she yelled at him, a surprising amount of passion flowing through her voice. She let out a wracking sob as she fell to the floor; her statement wasn't _entirely_ true, but the sentiment remained.

"I jus'," she spoke between sobs, "'ope 'e's alrigh'."

"He'll be back," the man said firmly.

The barber had felt a surge of pity run through him as she'd fallen to the floor, her torment was plain for anyone to see. Her cries would have been heartbreaking, had he a heart to break, and he felt compelled to comfort the small woman. He shook his head, clearing such urges away. _She deserves to suffer_, he reminded himself; she deserved to bleed the way he had. He hadn't forgotten her hopeless and desperate attempt to comfort him earlier in the week and he _certainly_ hadn't forgiven her. He looked at her, narrowing his eyes; if she was crying for his pity, she was sobbing for the wrong man. The boy wasn't even her blood, it was pathetic.

"Im goin' to find 'im," she said, rising with a sudden strength.

"Out there?" he said, gesturing to the black streets of London, which were now being beaten mercilessly by the teeming rain.

"O' course out there! Where else!?" she cried, moving towards the door.

He rolled his eyes; apparently he had underestimated her lack of sanity.

"You crazy woman, you can't go out there, it's bloody sheeting down!"

"I'll bloody well go if I want to!" she exclaimed, failing to pass him.

"You'll bloody catch your death out there woman!" he said, blocking the doorway.

"You care?" she said, still struggling to pass him, "no, neither do I, now let me out!"

He stood silently as she began to pummel his chest desperately with he petite hands. He frowned; _did_ he care? No, not at all; he just, didn't want her dead. He shook his head; he needed her alive, for business, and that was all.

"Calm down," he insisted, "bloody hell if he's not back in half an hour _I'll_ go." He glared at her; _that ought to do it_.

Mrs. Lovett stopped her flying fists mid-air; did he just offer to _help_ her? She looked up at him suspiciously, meeting his dark eyes. He stared into her, daring her to challenge him; knowing full well that she wouldn't. The baker shrugged, turning away from him; she wasn't in her right mind to question him. He glared after her back, not allowing himself to acknowledge the surge of relief her felt as she walked away. He didn't care. He sighed, he supposed he just felt…protective of her. After all, he had known her a _long_ time- No, _Benjamin_ had know her back then, not him. Either way, he didn't want anything to really hurt her, unless of course, it was by his own doing. For all her cared, the woman could rot in the fiery pits of hell, but not unless _he_ was the one to put her there.

The baker sat down shakily with a sigh. She had stopped crying, but her lower lip continued to quivered, giving notice to the angst she was hiding. She pursed he hands together in a prayer, not a religious asking, but more as a comfort to herself. She wasn't a religious woman, she'd learnt long ago that _if_ there really was an ultimate power out there, it sure as hell didn't give a damn about her.

"Please, _please_ let 'im be alright," she said slowly.

She gave way to her tears once again, her words stabbing at her already raw soul as she recalled the last time she'd uttered such a plea. No, she shook her head, she was not going back there. It was the past; the past! _Life is for the alive!_ she reminded herself, shaking her head miserably; oh she was such a hypocrite! She could feel her mind dull to a blur as her senses lessened, the light fading, turning to an ultimate darkness. She was falling; she was letting herself fall. She could feel her suffering of previous years resurface as she became engulfed in her grief. She didn't _want_ to go back there, not when she'd worked so hard to start afresh. She'd beaten it once before, but to do so again…she wasn't sure she had the strength. Unwillingly she closed her eyes, the darkness becoming too much for her to bear. She sunk deeper into her mind, the familiar darkness snaking its way through her. She faintly heard the barber leave, taking no real notice of anything in her state. Her eyes shop open; the bell. She'd heard the bell. He was back. He was alive. She sat up, looking around madly, finally spotting the boy.

"Oh thank 'eavens!" she exclaimed breathlessly, running much faster than her old bones should have allowed, as she moved towards him.

"Oh love, oh Toby," she cried, pulling him into her arms, "oh thank 'eavens. Thank god. Oh love!" she finished her voice muffled in his hair.

"I thought you was gone," she cried.

The boy smiled; he loved her, he loved her more than anything. He held on to his adoptive mother tightly, trying desperately to comfort her.

"It's aligh' mum, Im 'ere, Im fine."

She continued to shake violently as her small frame was wracked with heart wrenching sobs. She'd been so close to that familiar black oblivion; too close. But he was safe, he'd been saved. She'd been saved. She pulled the boy closer; _he_ had saved her.

"I love you mum," he said, pulling away from her to see her face.

The baker nearly cried out at the loss of his warmth; heavens knows she needed it. She clambered to her feet, only to find herself unable to stand.

"I know, I love you too darlin'" she stuttered out between her softening cries. She pulled him into her again tightly, as though worried he would evaporate. She couldn't lose him, she couldn't lose again…

She froze suddenly as she felt a sudden cool wetness on her shoulder. She frowned; he was soaking wet!

"Toby, you're bloody drenched!"

"Jus' a lil' wet mum," he said.

She would have none of it.

"Love, you're shivering like-"

"Im fine m-, m-, mum" he stuttered.

As if on cue, a sharp sneeze escaped his small mouth.

"Oh Toby! You're sick!"

"No, it's jus' a cold," he said.

Again, as if to contradict him, three harsh sneezes followed his denial. The baker grabbed him, pulling him immediately to her room, where she lay him down under the covers of her bed.

"There y'are, rest there, I'll be back in a tick."

True to her word, the woman returned in less than ten minutes with a warm bowl of soup, left of from the night before.

"'Ere ya go, drink it up love," she said warmly, trying to conceal her tears.

He was sick. She knew a sick child when she saw one, she'd slept next to her sister long enough to know the difference between a simple cold and something much worse. She knew she could tend for him, she'd been the second carer for her sister, spending almost a year of her life caring for Cara, and she knew exactly how to handle it. And at just seven years of age little Nellie had learnt that life didn't last forever; that life was for the alive. She'd missed her sister, their play-times, their secrets, but Cara had always been weak, and Nellie had hardly seen her elder sister after her fifth birthday. Since then, she'd seen her only in bed, always tired, and never any fun. When Cara had 'gone away', she'd been sad, for the loss of a friend, but little Nellie could never get her head around what her parents suffered. Her father became withdrawn, speaking only to his family, and her mother became someone else entirely. She spent all her time with Nellie, but she was never _really_ there. It was as though she'd escaped, as if her very soul had left her, leaving only the empty shell of Lenetta Lovett. Nellie hadn't understood them, she couldn't see her mother's desperate need to escape. But she'd realised it as she grew older, when life had thrown her the most painful of experiences…

The baker wrenched herself from such thoughts. If she went back there, there would be no return, she knew that. Oh how she'd love to give into the ever nagging darkness! How she'd just love to let life pass her by! She shook her head; she wouldn't, she _couldn't_. Toby needed her. Sweeney needed her. She needed herself. She stared at the boy's now quiet form, hoping to the heavens that her instinct was wrong; that it really _was_ just a simple cold. But she knew it wasn't, her instinct was never wrong. It was the one thing she could rely on, the _only_ thing.

"Please," she whispered.

She stared silently at him as a single tear trickled down her pale cheek. _Please let him be alright, please._

She couldn't lose him. If she did, she didn't know what she'd do; she didn't _want_ to know.

"Toby?" she questioned, seeing him stir.

"Yes mum?"

"Where were you today? Where 'av ya been that kept ya out so late?"

"Nowhere," he said, a little too quickly.

"Toby," she said sternly, demanding.

"Jus' went for a walk is all," he said, rolling over.

The baker subsided her questioning, suddenly fatigued. She dozed lightly, drifting off quickly.

"Mum?" the boy questioned, startling her.

"Mmmm?" she replied drowsily.

"I, I went out to get ya some 'erbs an' stuff, for ya face, where ya fell."

"Oh," she started, not really registering the boys explanation, "that's nice love."

She turned over in the chair, achieving a much more comfortable position. She smiled a little as she stirred; the child was _very_ gullible. She'd tried to hide the bruise, concealing her face with her curls, but when he'd questioned it she'd had no choice. She'd lied effortlessly, telling him of her 'clumsy accident'.

"I jus' tripped down the stair is all," she said, smiling, "banged me 'ead."

He'd believed every word of it too. Thank heaven he trusted her more than he _distrusted_ the barber. She stiffened a little at the thought of the man; he had caused her the now purpling mark on her face, he had restrained her from finding the boy. He had created the injury for which Toby had bought the herbs. It was his fault, all of it. This time, there was no blaming herself; he was the only one to blame. She glanced worriedly at the now sleeping boy; if her didn't get better, if he was _really_ ill, if -. She couldn't even bring herself to think it. But it the unthinkable should happen, she'd never forgive him. She really wouldn't, no matter how much she loved the man. She swore she'd kill him, at least she'd like to, if the boy came to any serious harm. She couldn't go through it again; she'd barley made it through alive the first time.

The woman rose and walked to the bed, dropping down beside the boy, and pulled the covers over them both. She hugged the boy loosely, trying to ignore the nervous churning of her stomach. She couldn't sleep alone tonight; she knew she'd be haunted in her dreams if she did. She yawned, placing a soft kiss on the boys forehead before falling into her own, dreamless sleep.

--


	14. That Faint Darkness

_

* * *

_

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

_..She yawned, placing a soft kiss on the boys forehead before falling into her own, dreamless sleep…_

Toby awoke long before his adoptive mother, surprised to see that the woman had slept in her dress. She _always_ changed for the night, no matter what time she retired to her chambers. He closed his eyes snuggling against her warm body. He knew there was something wrong with her; last night had been about more than her worry for him, he knew that, but he couldn't place it. Money? No, it was never really an issue to her, they had enough to survive, plus a little extra on the side. Mr. Todd? No, this was to much even for him to have caused. Loneliness? No, he knew she was almost _always_ lonely, but this was different. He'd noticed the faraway, dark look in her eyes the night before; it was as though she was there, but not _really_ there. He was worried, today was their busiest day, and in her state, there was no way she could handle it. He yawned, snuggling into her yet again; he was so cold! He didn't feel too good either, and strange mixture of shivering and sweating making him uncomfortable. He yawned again, slowly drifting back to sleep, resolving that he would help his obviously pained mother in the shop today, no matter how badly his small body ached.

The room was sufficiently brighter by the time Toby re-awoke, the glare of the light making his head spin. He felt dreadfully ill, not unlike he had so many times before; arising after drinking his mind to oblivion. Looking around, he realised that his guardian had long since left the bed, and judging by the noise out side, he figured she was well into the lunchtime rush. He stepped awkwardly from the bed, still fully dressed from the night before, and began to cross into the corridor. He shivered as he opened the door; God he was freezing!

"Toby! What are ya doin?!" the baker's voice called out as he entered the shop, "ya go get back into bed right now!"

"I was gonna 'elp ya mum," the boy said, trying not to sound as sick as he felt.

"Nonsense! Ya need to rest love, you ain't well."

"Im fine," he lied, "what d'ya need 'elp with?"

"Go back to bed," she said, as firmly as her motherly tone would allow.

Her words did no good, he was already walking around, clearing a few plates from the nearest table. She sighed; maybe it _was_ just a simple cold after all. Still, she didn't want to risk it.

"Ya sure love?" she asked, concerned.

"Yes mum, I wouldn't lie," he said.

He did feel slightly bad for lying to her, but she obviously needed his help, and it was the only way to get her to accept it.

"Alrighty then," she said, "thanks love."

He smiled at her briefly before continuing his work, his body protesting with every move he made.

The baker set to work, baking, cutting, brushing and seasoning the pies to suit her cannibalistic customers. She smiled at the thought; if only they _knew_. The widow continued her absent minded work as her customers eagerly devoured the remains of random strangers, completely oblivious the fact that Toby was no longer appearing at the bench every ten minutes, with a new pile of dishes for her to slave away at.

She sighed contently, shutting the last of the customers out. As much as she loved it, owning her own business was agonizingly hard work. She smiled; at least she had Toby to help her. She looked quickly around her, realising she hadn't seen his face for nearly an hour.

"Toby?" she called out, "where are ya love?"

Hearing no response, she called again, walking towards the parlour.

"Toby? You feeling okay? Where are-," she stopped, finding the boy, unmoving on the floor. She shook her head, tutting; the boy was going to send her bankrupt, the way he drank himself to sleep. She smiled at the sleeping child, reaching down to retrieve the bottle of alcohol; surprised when she found no such bottle in his hand. She looked around, soon spying the bottle; unopened on the shelf. Her stomach suddenly lurched to her throat as she turned back to the boy; if he wasn't drunk asleep then…

"Oh God," she whispered, bending down.

She reached over to him, relieved to find him still breathing. She felt her stomach twist again; something wasn't right. His breathing was shallow, coming in short, soft bursts, rather than the deep breaths that came with sleep. Suddenly clutched by worry, she reached out to him again, feeling for his pulse. She gasped, as far as she could tell, it was weak, even for a small boy. She stood up, the room suddenly seeming to spin. She knew it; she _knew_ it wasn't just a cold, it was something worse. Far worse. She stood silent for a moment, her heart hammering in panic as she felt the darkness creep yet again through her mind; part of her wanted to give in, to let the darkness black out her worry, to numb the pain. No! She shook her head; Toby needed her, now.

"Mr. Todd!" she yelled, panicked.

She was astonished to hear his footsteps descending the stairs, having been accustomed to calling numerous times before gaining a response.

"What?" he asked as soon as he entered the room.

"Toby," she said, the panic finally showing itself clear in her voice, "he-, I-, he-"

"What?" he questioned impatiently.

"I think, I think 'e's fainted."

"Don't be daft woman, he's probably asleep."

"I dunno Mr.T, 'e was out in the rain, 'e must 'av got a chill" she said, trying to ignore the voice in her head that told her it was something worse than _just_ a chill. She shook her head; _stay calm_.

The barber sighed, he knew she wasn't leaving, or letting him leave until he'd checked the boy.

"Lemme see him," he said gruffly.

The man knelt over the boy, frowning as he saw his shallow breathing. He reached out, feeling the boys soft pulse, and shook his head lightly; it was _too_ soft. He turned around to the widow, who was now wringing her hands anxiously.

"Get a doctor," he said calmly.

"Mr.T?" she questioned, her nerves rising.

"Go," he insisted firmly.

"What's the matter with 'im?" she asked, her voice growing dangerously shrill.

"Now."

With a final growl from the barber, she fled, desperately searching the streets for a doctor.

--


	15. End My Agony, Sir

_

* * *

_

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

_..With a final growl from the barber, she fled, desperately searching the streets for a doctor…_

Mrs. Lovett rushed in the door, her chest heaving and speechless for loss of breath. She quickly ushered the doctor inside, barely taking notice as Sweeney moved to stand next to her, giving the doctor quick access to the boy. She quickly regained her breath, forced to speak as the barber questioned the doctor's identity.

"'e's Doctor Langley, respectable man," she said before adding that the man was an honest worker and not entirely a sham, in order to soothe the barber's suspicious side. She received only a 'huff' as a reply. He rolled his eyes at her explanation; what would _she_ know? Anyone could fake a business, the pair of them did it constantly. The two of them stood, deathly silent as they waited for the verdict. Mrs. Lovett twisted her hair restlessly as she watched the doctor intently.

"Hmmm…heart…pulse…condition," the man mumbled to himself.

"Doctor?" the nervous baker asked.

"What is it ma'am?"

"Is he alright?"

"Don't rush me ma'am," he said, silencing her.

Mr. Todd found the situation quite amusing; he doubted the widow had ever been so quiet in her life.

"Mrs. Lovett ma'am?" the doctor finally spoke, holding out his hand.

"O' course," she said, handing him a few coins.

"Now then, I the interest of confidentiality, I must know; are you his mother?"

"Yes sir," she replied, completely natural.

"Right ma'am and he-," he said gesturing towards the barber.

"'e's 'is father," she cut in, not missing a beat.

"Right then, as the boys parents," he said gesturing to the odd-looking pair, "I can tell you my full diagnoses."

"Please," the baker said, elbowing Mr. Todd in the ribs.

"Go on," he said roughly, resisting the urge the throttle the woman.

"From what I can tell, the lad has caught a severe run of Pneumonia, and he's fainted today from exhaustion."

"Pneumonia," she breathed, "but isn't that…bad?"

"Indeed ma'am," he said, "had he been working?"

"'e-,'e-,'e" she stuttered, "'e said 'e was alright!" she exclaimed, her voice wavering.

"Clearly not ma'am, you must keep him warm and comfortable at all times; his case is quite severe."

The baker simply stared, now unable to speak for fear of tears.

"How severe?" the barber asked flatly.

The woman gave him a thankful look, hardly noticing when he rolled his eyes, shrugging it off.

"Sir," he started, "and ma'am, I am sorry to say this, but I cannot guarantee your son's survival."

"You mean-," the baker started, knowing full well that tears would soon fall despite her efforts.

"Even in the best of environments," he started, "he'll be lucky to live."

At that, the baker let out a weak sob, shortly followed by stronger, more violent cries. She found her way to the boy, lifting and carrying him to her bed as she sobbed relentlessly. Somewhere between her efforts, the barber had shown the doctor on his way, taking from him a selection of smelling salts to try for the boy. She left the small boy, tucked in neatly, unable to look at him. She moved to the parlour, where Mr. Todd was waiting with the salts. She took them from him, placing them on the table as she fell into the chair. She stared, her face not unlike the barber's often was; stoic and unmoving, completely lost in her mind, and trying desperately to think of anything _but_ the boy. Her efforts were in vain and she soon found she was sobbing to herself. The barber stood, watching her, almost transfixed. She cried harder, her small body heaving as she was wracked with sobs; what had she done to deserve this? She groaned as she remembered the doctors words; hadn't she suffered enough?

"God Mr.T," she choked out, suddenly aware of his presence, "what am I gonna do?"

"He'll be fine," he replied mechanically.

"No 'e bloody well won't be!" she yelled, suddenly venting her anguish, "you 'eard the doctor as well as I did, 'e'll be lucky to-," she paused to breathe, "live!" she exclaimed, shuddering violently at the revelation.

"Bloody hell woman," the barber said, agitated, "he's not your bloody son!"

The man growled some inaudible curse under his breath, unable to understand her torment. He was just an orphan, a child bought from the workhouse; why the bloody hell was she so upset?

"e's the closest I've ever gotten to raisin' me own!" she yelled back, her voice shrill; oh if only he _knew_.

"He's an orphan Mrs. Lovett, and no matter how many doctors you pretend to be his mother for, it's never going to be true."

She stood, rising angrily from the chair.

"And what would you know!?" she yelled, hysteric.

"Enough to know it was his own fault, the stupid boy," he said, his voice remarkably cool.

"Was it now?!" she yelled, turning to him, the look on her face almost frightening, "'e went to get 'erbs for me face!"

She fell to her knees sobbing, the force of her realization hitting her hard. It was his fault, all of it. If the bastard hadn't hit her, if he wasn't so goddam touchy, Toby wouldn't be tucked up in bed, fighting for his life.

"You did this!" she shrieked, "you killed 'im!"

"Bloody hell, he's not even _dead_!" he yelled, now angered by her accusations, "if you hadn't touched me, I wouldn't have needed to hit you!"

"I was only tryin' to 'elp an' you know it! It's your fault! All your bloody fault!"

"You _know_ not to-," he started, cut off by her screams.

"I don't give a shit! I don't care about your bloody hag of a wife! I don't care how much you want get _Benjamin's_ daughter back! I don't give a fuck if you ignore me for the rest of me life! You bloody didn't let me find the kid an' now 'e's gonna die!" she screamed at him.

She shook violently tears engulfing her; she was going to lose the boy- just somebody else to add to the list of stolen dreams. She knew she was being irrational, but she didn't care; the optimist within her had died long ago. The barber picked her up off the floor, shoving her against the wall brutally, razor instantly at her neck. She didn't flinch as he dug the cool blade into her milky skin, leaving behind a hot trail of rubies.

"You _bitch_," he seethed at her, "how dare you! You will never talk about my family like that-,"

"They were Benjamin's family, an' he's bloody gone!" she cut in, the screamed words coming as a shock to herself, "they wouldn't want you now, no-one would you bastard!"

He pushed the razor into her skin again, threatening, and staying silent.

"Do it!" she screamed, "bloody kill me already!"

Even in her hysteric state, she knew he wouldn't and some part of her was slightly disappointed at the fact. Predictably and reluctantly, the barber dropped the razor from her neck; he wouldn't kill her.

"You would have bloody _died_ out there!" he yelled at her.

"Like you give a damn!" she yelled, "it wasn't up to you!"

"_Somebody_ had to stop you!" he growled.

"What makes you think you have the right?!" she yelled, "you don't own me! You can't bloody control me!"

She shook her head as she slunk to the floor, trying to silence the voice in her head that reminded her that in fact, he very much did.

"Will you bloody calm down!?" he yelled.

"No I wont! You try facing the death of a child-" she paused, cutting herself off before adding 'twice'; he had no right to know, "then maybe you'll understand!"

He towered over her, seething.

"My wife is dead!" he spat at her.

"It was her choice to die! She wanted it! Not Toby, no, you made that decision for him!" she screeched, racing out of the room.

"Bitch!" he yelled after her.

"Bastard!" she retorted, screaming as she slammed the door behind her.

She sat down in the arm chair, overcome by tears of agony as soon as she spotted the boy. She sobbed, chocking on her tears as she shook.

"Please!" she shouted to the heavens, "_Please!_"

She sobbed; she was helpless, utterly helpless. She shuddered, her mind and body aching, as she found herself falling into a pit of darkness. She stirred her mind, finding herself to close to the edge; she couldn't go back there again, she'd never make it back, _alive_. She sat there, fighting against herself until, eventually, she found herself drifting into a doze.

"Please…" she murmured.

She closed her eyes, falling into a fitful and restless sleep.

_Please wake, please._

--


	16. Releif

_

* * *

_

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

_She sat there, fighting against herself, until eventually, she found herself drifting into a doze...__Please wake, please…_

The baker stirred, sighing as the sun began to spill through the windows, drenching the room in light. It seemed she'd get no more sleep that morning, though the heavens knew she needed it. She shook her head as she tried to stand, her bones aching in protest; sleeping in the hard chair had done her no favours, and her limbs were stiff from the cold. As she heard the barber above her rise, she sighed, almost whimpering as she remembered the incidents of the night before. Suddenly, her mind veered from him, and she cast a quick glance at the forlorn child who was now resting, unconscious, in her bed. She twirled her hair anxiously, unsure of exactly what to do, nodding to herself as she decided to stay with him until he woke, regardless of her business. She shook her head, attempting to clear of the voice that told her he wouldn't. He had to get better, he _had_ to; and if not for his sake, then for her own. She could hardly bare the thought of losing him, she knew she'd be hopeless if he did; she couldn't go through that pain again. Ever. She'd been punished enough, disproportionate to her crimes; she didn't _deserve_ to be shattered again. She shook her head, trying desperately to shake her thoughts as she felt a single tear fall across her ivory cheek. _No!_ She wiped at her tears; no, losing him was _not_ an option. Her efforts to protect herself from breaking were in vain, and she soon found herself bent over the unmoving child, muttering some sort of prayer between sobs. Her heart froze instantly in disbelief as the boys eyes fluttered open.

"Mum?" he said groggily.

She stared at him, mouth agape as she tried to right her mind. Was it true? Was she _really_ seeing him speak? She simply stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the boy.

"Mum?" he asked again.

Her heart leapt, suddenly soaring as relief began to flow through her veins.

"Oh thank 'eavens!" she cried, quickly giving way to the tears of relief which flowed from her soul.

"I though' you was as good as dead!" she said between sobs, "Oh love! Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!"

"I'm sorry…" he said weakly, though hardly comprehending her words as he tried to hug his mother back.

"No, no dearie," she said, pushing him back down to the pillows, "you rest up there nice an' comfy" she finished, her more practical side returning.

The boy lay down, closing his eyes, too exhausted to protest. She smiled, tears welling up once again in her loving eyes; he was _alive_. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders; she could breathe again. The woman felt the darkness fade to the back of her mind, and, though it was still present, she knew she was now safe; that she was able to close her eyes without having to face the demons of her past. She smiled triumphantly, proud that she had been strong enough to resist falling into the black oblivion.

"Mum?" the boy spoke, shifting.

"Yes, love?"

He seemed to hesitate, looking rather awkward as he faced her.

"Did you," he started, still sounding hesitant, "did you _really_ fall down the stairs? 'ow ya 'urt ya face I mean."

She froze, her stomach lurching suddenly; could he have heard their yells the night before, even in his unconscious state?

"O' course love," she said, smiling warmly, "I wouldn't lie to ya."

"Oh," he replied flatly, "only…why d'ya always defend Mr.T? When 'e's always yellin' at ya, an' 'urting ya?"

Her smile faltered; so he _had_ heard.

"You wouldn't understand love," she said, caressing his face gently.

The boy sighed; he sure didn't. He knew she wasn't telling him the whole truth; he'd heard fractions of their screams the night before and he knew there was more going on that she'd told him. She smiled lovingly, seeing the confused expression on his face.

"s'grown up stuff," she said.

She sighed as the boy turned from her, evidently too tired and confused to pursue the conversation. She hadn't understood it either. She remembered the way her and Lucy had spied on her parents as kids, running away screaming when they caught the adults kissing. She laughed to herself, they'd been so innocent back then; so childish. She sighed, life certainly was _much_ easier when all boys had cooties, and the only reason to get married was for all the wonderful gifts. She smiled at the sleeping boy; he'd understand one day. She rose, now convinced that the boy wouldn't perish, and set off to the bakehouse, dreading the work that awaited her.

A month passed the baker by, with the business becoming ever more popular, and the work behind it becoming ever more demanding. Thankfully, the boy had recovered in just less than five weeks, and was now busy helping out around the shop. The baker called out to the boy as she picked up her purse, heading for the door.

"Toby! Im off to the market love! Be a dear an' take Mr.T 'is lunch alrigh'?" she yelled, glad to be finally escaping the place.

"Yes mum!" the boy yelled back, appearing in the kitchen, "ya want me to come with ya? Shouldn't be out there by yourself ya know."

"S'alright love, I'll be fine, you stay 'ere an' tidy up the place alrigh'?"

"Alright mum, love ya" he said, returning to his work.

She smiled; the two of them had grown much closer since his near fatal illness, and even if it drove Mr. Todd mad, she was glad of it. Things between the barber and herself had been particularly tense for some time- the coldness for once coming not entirely from him. But things had improved since the boys recovery, and they were back to their usual selves; not that _that_ was anything to be grateful for. She sighed as she took to the streets; at least he hadn't threatened to kill her lately, that _was_ something to be grateful for.

She walked for a while, grateful for the nice weather, taking her time in approaching the market. She cursed loudly as she tripped on a stone, freezing instantly as she raised her eyes. There, right in front of her, was Lucy Barker. She stared at her, still ever amused at what she'd become; she couldn't help but feel slightly amazed each time she came to face it. She glared at the woman as she watched, standing less than half a yard from the whore, as she gave herself to a complete stranger. The baker snickered, remembering the day she'd discovered the woman's new source of income. She'd walked those very streets that day, never expecting what she'd been so delighted to find…

Nellie Lovett hurried home, walking briskly through the streets as she returned from the busy market. She sighed, practically _dragging_ the side of beef along beside her; _she_ was the one who would have to prepare the meat no doubt. She smiled a little, Albert was a good man, but she did wish he wouldn't eat so much! She turned sharply, taking to the alleys in order to avoid the main streets; the memories they held were unbearable. With one step onto the familiar streets, she could practically _see_ Benjamin being dragged from her life; she couldn't bear it. She shook her head; it had already been one year, and she _still_ couldn't face it. She turned the corner, freezing instantly at the sight which greeted her. There, in clean earshot of her, was the woman she so despised. She'd returned. The baker frowned for a moment, unable to comprehend what stood so plainly before her. But that moment was all it took, for her mind soon registered the news as she heard the telltale signs of a man on his way. She stared in disbelief; it couldn't be! Her disbelief soon fled from her mind as her ears caught more sounds; grunts, whispers, moans and shouts, all melded together to form one near unbelievable scene. There, in front of her, was Lucy Barker; sweet, innocent, perfect little Lucy Barker, backed up against the wall, back arched and eyes rolling, playing the perfect little whore as a stranger took her shamelessly. She _did_ pity the woman, forced to sell her body to wanton men, but as she stood, watching, almost transfixed as the virtuous slut performed her deeds, her pity turned to an almost sadistic delight. Lucy _Barker_, faultless, pure, innocent Lucy Barker, was a whore. A filthy, common, repulsive _whore_. It was almost to good to be true. She grinned maliciously as she turned from the alley, thinking of what dear Benjamin would think. She stopped, turning back to face them as she heard the evidence of Lucy's job complete, staring at the whore as she pointed.

"You got what you bloody well deserved," she yelled, her voiced echoing through the alley, "filthy slut!"

With that, she turned for home, the side of meat trailing along beside her as she ran, feeling much better for her harsh words. _She_ would have the last laugh.

The widow chuckled lightly to herself; she certainly _had_. With not another glance at the familiar happenings of the alley, she continued on her way to the market, perhaps more cheerfully that she should have.

--


	17. A Childhood Stolen, My Trust Regained

a/n: WARNING: This chapter contains incest, rape, murder, and violence.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

_.. With not another glance at the familiar happenings of the alley, she continued on her way to the market, perhaps more cheerfully that she should have…_

Mrs. Lovett walked slowly around the market place. Her shopping was complete, but the baker had no desire to return to her musky shop, regardless, or perhaps because of the man above. She found an empty side street and took a seat, resting her bones on a worn out crate. She smiled a little as she saw the deep green material flow from her basket. The fabric stall had been _conveniently_ out of red, and so she'd brought the emerald material instead. She smile contently; her choice was _much_ more appropriate. She knew Mr. Todd would be rather unimpressed at the colour, but the poor man had absolutely no taste in decorating whatsoever; he'd have to deal with it. She eyed the few bottles of gin she'd purchased, contemplating the idea of taking a sip. She nodded to herself in the affirmative, and took a quick swig from the bottle, nearly choking as the liquid burnt satisfyingly at her throat. She placed the bottle back in the basket, bringing her eyes up across the alley. It wasn't long before she noticed a man at the end of the side street, eyeing her hungrily. She could feel his eyes upon her, fixed on her with _that_ look. She knew the look- all to well. It made her skin crawl. The widow knew she was no great, shining beauty, but she could turn the heads of men, (and undoubtedly some women), all the same. She was grateful for it; it made her feel special, even wanted, but even as men followed her every move, she knew it was for all the wrong reasons. She knew what those looks were intended for; none aimed admiringly at her face, but considerably lower.

She wondered if her mother had faced such troubles, after all, she _had_ been the spitting image of her in childhood. She'd even turned heads _then_. For her age, the twelve-year-old had been quite developed, and the filthy men had noticed. She knew they followed her, watched her, and she wasn't always comfortable with the idea, but she knew not one of them could touch her; her father was far too protective of his angel, especially since the loss of his wife, and if any harm were to come to his daughter, there would be no end of it. She knew she was safe with him, even if her mother was no longer there to comfort her. She remembered the night she'd last seen her dear mother, just a mere glimpse of the lady in a crowd. She ran the entire way home from the coastline, desperate to tell her father…

"Daddy!" she cried, running into the room, "mummy's come back!"

Her father didn't respond, ignoring his daughter, or simply not hearing her. She ran up to him, grabbing his hand.

"She's back daddy! I saw her at the fête!" she said, her eyes wide with joy.

"Was she with Mr. Lucas?" he asked, barley shifting his gaze. The little girl frowned, trying to remember the detail, and then smiled, nodding.

"Then she's not back," he said quickly.

"Oh," she said, not fully comprehending, "but why?"

"Nel'," he started, gesturing for her to sit on his lap, touching her face softly as he spoke, " she's gone. She isn't coming back. She's with Mr. Lucas now."

The man sighed, knowing her heart couldn't quite make sense of it all. His own couldn't either, even if it _had_ been a year.

"Why?" she asked, her eyes slightly glassy.

"I don't know Nel'," he said, "I don't know."

The news of her mothers affair had shocked little Nellie, but her limited knowledge of the world had prevented her from knowing the full story. All the girl knew was that her mother was now living with Mr. Lucas, whom her mother loved more dearly than both her husband and daughter.

"I miss her daddy," she said softly, lowering her head in order to hide her tears; Nellie Lovett _never_ cried.

"I know Nel'," he said, pulling her into him, holding her tight, "I do too."

It was true, the man missed his wife terribly. The news of her affair had nearly killed him, shaking all life from his body. He hadn't spoken to his daughter for months after Lenetta had left, Nellie was the spitting image of his wife, and the reminder was just too painful. He still found it hard to face his Nellie; she reminded him of Lenetta in every way. He inhaled her scent, identical to that of her mothers, suddenly smiling wickedly as he pulled her close; she reminded him of his wife in every way. _Every_ way. She pulled her head from his shoulder, sitting comfortably on his lap as she searched his face for answers. He watched he intently; she really _was_ the spitting image of Lenetta. She was beautiful.

"We'll be alright without her Nel'," he said, kissing her softly on the forehead, "I love you."

He stared at her a moment, marveling at the softness of her skin, that somehow tasted unexplainably of her mothers. He smiled at the mass of short auburn curls, dropping his had to the small of her back, holding her tenderly. She looked up at him quizzically, her eyes half-accusing. She'd heard stories of men; _bad_ men.

"What?" he started, reminded of how sharp his daughters mind was, "are you too old for cuddles now?"

The girl looked away, ashamed of having assumed her fathers gestures to be more than just a comfort.

"We can live without her can't we Nel'?" he said, his arm snaking around the girl's small waist.

"Yes…" she said softly, but there was no hiding the accusation that had now returned to her eyes.

"What is it Nel'?" he said almost _too_ sweetly, "can't a father comfort his daughter?"

She avoided his eyes, afraid of what she'd find in them, as he rubbed her back a little, holding her gently.

"His precious," he paused, kissing her softly on the forehead, "darling," a kiss on the cheek, "lovely," the other cheek, "beautiful," his lips grazed her small nose, "daughter" he finished, kissing her on the lips, far more forcefully than should have been allowed. The small girl squirmed against him, desperate to pull away; it didn't _feel_ right. She tried to free herself, but as she struggled, she felt his arms tighten around her, trapping her to his body. She felt her heart begin to race, realizing that her position now was not as the daughter; this was _not_ a father daughter embrace. She felt the urge to flee, to escape the man holding her so dangerously close; but she didn't. She stayed there, like the ever-obliging child she was, telling herself not to be so stupid as he lifted her chin towards her own.

_It's okay, he's just comforting you. You're safe; he's you __father__ for heavens sakes! He's here for you. He's the one who protects you from the other men; he's here to protect you. He wouldn't harm you. He loves you. _

Despite her reasoning, the small girl could do nothing to help her racing heart or weakening limbs. Her instinct told her to leave, told her she was wrong; that he could, and undoubtedly _would_ harm her. She felt enormously guilty for thinking of her father like that, but as she felt his hand again roaming her waistline, she couldn't help the churning of her stomach.

"Daddy?" she questioned, her wide eyes suggesting that she knew much more than she should.

She hardly had time to blink before she found his rough lips against her own, fighting back a grimace as his tongue entered her mouth. She pulled her face away from his; father or not, she _knew_ this wasn't right. She tried to free herself from the man, now anxious to get away, but she felt his arms lock her in a vice-like grip; she wasn't going _anywhere_.

"Daddy, what-" she started, her voice apprehensive.

"Hush child," he said softly, "you're alright."

She looked away from him, the look on his face now clear to her. It was the same expression the dirty men in the streets wore when spying her, she knew it well, and she knew then, as she turned away from his lust-filled eyes, that she was in trouble.

The man turned her small face back to his own, brushing an auburn curl from her deep brown eyes.

"There you are sweetie," he cooed, "you are beautiful."

She looked straight into his eyes then, betrayal, fear and anger shining through. There comes a time in ones life, where to struggle against fate, is only to prolong ones suffering; and Nellie Lovett knew she'd reached that point. She could struggle, she could _try_ to free herself from her fathers grip, but she knew that even if, by some miracle, she were to escape, he'd only capture her again. She knew there was no escape for her now, but as she looked into his eyes, she was determined to make him see what he was doing, even if he hardly cared. She trembled at the notion of what was to come, stiffening as she felt his hands move to the front of her dress.

"Beautiful…" he murmured, transfixed by his twelve-year-old's beauty. He smiled maliciously as he inhaled the sweet scent of her hair; she reminded him of Lenetta in every way. _Every_ way.

"We can do just fine without her," he whispered into her ear, quickly untying the laces of her dress. She froze in horror as he pulled the material from her chest, shuddering in disgust as his hands began to knead her small breasts.

"You are beautiful Nellie," he whispered, bringing his rough lips to her neck, "I love you."

And indeed he did; far too much.

She lay on her mothers bed that night, helpless as he violated her. She cried out in pain, fear and terror as he stole he childhood, begging for him to stop.

"Daddy! Daddy, please!" she cried "It hurts! Stop daddy! Please!"

But he didn't.

"Please!" she screamed, praying, _begging_, that it would soon be over. She pulled at her auburn tresses, tearing at them, trying to distract herself from the pain between her legs, but it was no use; the poor girl knew she had to be bleeding. She doubted she could ever manage to walk again, crying out in agony as he tore inside her. Suddenly, she felt him tense, and she yelled out in pain as he thrust suddenly deeper into her, as he let out a guttural moan.

"Beautiful," he moaned hoarsely, as she felt a repulsive liquid fill her. The girl closed her eyes for a second, hardly daring to believe the ordeal finished. She let out a yelp as he slid from her, the pain suddenly jolting her from her world of relief. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, deciding whether she should try walking in order to escape, as the man beside her sat up, breathing heavily.

"I love you," he said breathlessly, caressing her face almost tenderly.

At his touch, the small girl burst into tears, unable to repress them any longer as she leapt from her bed, running blindly from the house. She tore into the streets, clutching her dress to her bare body as she ran towards the shore, the pain between her small legs almost unbearable. She reached the ocean, plunging herself into the cool depths, desperate to feel clean. The water however, only made her pain worse, the salty water making her injuries burn. She fled from the water, seeking sanctuary underneath the jetty. She clothed herself, sobbing violently as she studied her brutalised body, before collapsing onto the cold sand, happily giving way to the darkness of her mind.

She awoke hours later, dazed and confused as she eyed the rising sun. She shifted herself a little, instantly reminded of the events of the night before, as a sharp pain shot through her body. She began to cry, her small body wracked with sobs as she relived her struggles, unable to come to terms with what had happened. She felt terrible; betrayed, unclean and angry. The girl had no idea how long she cried for, or when exactly she had fallen into sleep again; only that the next time she awoke, she was greeted by a few shining stars, glittering effortlessly in the dark sky. She glared at them angrily; just over a year ago she'd turned to them for answers, and they'd _promised_ that she'd be just fine without her mother. But she wasn't. The stars had lied. She hated them. She hated him. She hated herself. She hated the whole goddam world. She shook her head, fighting back hot tears which threatened to spill; Nellie Lovett would cry no more.

The girl had stayed there just under a week, living beneath the pier both in day and night. She hardly ate, nor drank, consuming just enough to keep her alive, _barely_. But a dark and unused jetty isn't the safest of places for a pretty, young girl to be, and Nellie knew she'd have to return to the man who was once her father.

She returned to the seaside home only three days later, knowing full well what awaited her return. In a matter of days, her father had turned from her only friend, to beast, and Nellie Lovett was forced to let go of her innocent childhood, to succumb to the harsh and brutal adult world. The night after her return, as her father once again pounded her soul, she lay still, silent tears falling across her pale cheeks; she hated him. Nellie would never again know the safety nor security of a fathers arms, as far as she was concerned, she had no father; only a filthy man who took her violently, whenever he saw fit to do so. And so it was for five whole years, with her imagining various ways to make him pay for her grief, as he took her roughly for his own; and she never told a soul. She knew it was by only a miracle that she never fell pregnant, for the trauma of her ordeals had somehow delayed her monthlies until she was out of his reach. _Far_ out of his reach; for at just seventeen years of age, Nellie Lovett learnt to true satisfaction of revenge.

Her father had returned drunk that night, evidently in the mood for doing just one thing- her. She pressed herself against the wall, dreading the mans arrival. As she counted the number of seconds she had left, she glared at the door, watching as the shadowy figure approached. The young woman stood suddenly straight as something clicked within her. Her eyes flashed with hatred, enough was enough; Nellie Lovett would take no more. She raced across to the other side of the room, to the bench, grabbing for some sort of weapon, desperate for anything she could use. She turned to face the door as she heard him enter, cold metal concealed behind her back.

He lunged for her instantly-she knew he would- and she complied, silently submissive as always. She kept her face turned from him, for fear he should see the wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Look at me!" he yelled at her, already pulling at her skirts. She did as was asked of her, facing him , the expression upon her face close to that of malicious glee.

"Ah, enjoying this are you?" he snickered, mistaking her expression for that of lust, "about bloody time."

"Oh yes," she started, almost choking on her words, "how could _any_ woman be left unsatisfied, with a lover such as yourself?"

He lifted her roughly against the wall, freeing himself from his trousers.

"Ask you mother, girl."

She nearly laughed aloud at his comment; she didn't blame her mother for leaving the bastard. The girl found it extremely difficult to stay compliant with her father, but she kept her charade up; this was _her_ revenge, and she was bloody well going to enjoy it. She reached out from behind her flattened back, slowly drawing the knife from concealment, and rested it unnoticeably between their bodies.

"There's a good girl," he growled, plunging into her.

The second her entered her, she struck, thrusting the knife into his chest. He gasped, the pure terror in his eyes somewhat comforting to her soul. He stepped shakily back from her, stumbling towards the bench. She could see the life quickly draining from him, pain contorting his face as she approached him.

"Nel', I-, I-, I-," he stuttered.

She reached him, taking hold of the knife, buried in his now bloodstained chest.

"Burn in hell," she seethed at him, her eyes black as she twisted the knife roughly. The man gave a sharp yelled, before finally falling to the ground, lifeless.

Her expression changed then, her heart suddenly racing, enthralled with a sudden need for his blood. She pulled the knife from his lifeless body, and proceeded to stab the man repeatedly, plunging the now warm metal into his chest, over and over, gripped with insatiable bloodlust. She brutalised him, hot tears falling from her fierce eyes as she was covered in her aggressor's blood. She sobbed relentlessly in pure relief, the freedom that she felt was almost too much for her to handle as she reveled in the sight of her slain father. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, her rampage ceased, as she rose quickly from his body and exited the home, swiftly and silently.

She left her home in sunny northern England that night, and in a matter of months, had found herself settled in London, quickly setting herself out as a baker in Fleet Street. She started afresh, but even the change of location did not rid her of the painful memories which haunted her mind. She hadn't brought herself to face a man since then. She hated them; all of them. Until Ben.

Two years on from her new beginnings in London, she'd still been as repressed as she'd been on her arrival, loathing men to the very core. On a Sunday evening, after her various trips, he'd approached her in the street.

"Excuse me Miss?" he called from across the street, as she walked from the florist.

"Miss?" he called again, crossing the street to approach her. She turned reluctantly as he reached her, a rather tiresome look upon her face.

"Excuse me Miss," the young man started, looking slightly embarrassed, "I am searching for a shop, a bakery I believe, at 186 Fleet Street. I am looking for a place to stay, for I am new to London, and I hear that a Miss. Lovett is looking for a tenant. Do you know her Miss?"

"I've heard of her," she replied sharply, not willing to give her identity.

"Do you think Miss, if it isn't too much of a bother, that you could show me to her establishment? Im not very handy when it comes to maps, and I keep getting lost" he asked, tentatively.

She wanted to refuse him, to turn down his request as she had done so many others, but she didn't. Instead, she found herself beckoning him to follow her, her heart, for some reason, racing uncontrollably fast as she lead him down the streets.

They walked in silence for a while; him, seeming almost shy, and her, not willing herself to speak.

"Is she a nice woman?" he asked, sounding apprehensive.

His voice broke their tense silence and she warmed a little, gesturing for him to turn left after her.

"Miss. Lovett?" she asked, smiling at her charade, "oh no, she is horrible, a right old hag if you ask me."

"Oh," he started, suddenly seeming far more nervous, "do you think she will judge me harshly then? I am in desperate need of the room and I do hope she thinks well of me."

"I think she will judge you when you least expect it," she replied, amused.

The young woman stopped just outside the bakery, pointing to the sign overhead.

"Here we are."

"Thankyou Miss-" he paused, not knowing her name.

"Lovett," she said, smiling, "Miss Nellie Lovett."

She watched him as he stood, seeming confused for a moment, before catching onto her muse, smiling at her.

"Well the Miss. Lovett," he said, laughter audible in his voice, "if you have not already judged me so unexpectedly, I would like to offer you whatever price you name for the room above."

The baker pretended to ponder the idea, though she had decided less than half and hour ago that the room belonged to him.

"It's yours," she said nodding.

He grinned at her, evidently grateful.

"Thankyou Miss. Lovett," he said, kissing her chastely on the cheek, "you are not half as horrible as you told me, thankyou."

Nellie had no idea why the sensation of his lips on her cheek caused her to blush so furiously, nor did she know why her heart was pounding so hard she felt it might burst from her chest; but what she did have enough sense to know, was that for the first time in seven years, she hadn't felt threatened by a mans presence. She dashed inside for a moment, retrieving the key, and proceeded to show him the room he now boarded, studying him intently all the while.

"Your name sir?" she asked as she turned to leave the room, needing to escape the suffocating joy that surrounded her as she remained in the same room as the young man.

"Barker," he said warmly, "Benjamin Barker."

"Then good night Mr. Barker," she said, smiling lightly at him.

"Evening, Miss Nellie Lovett" he replied, deciding he was rather lucky to have found such a charming landlady.

She held onto the handrail tightly in an attempt to keep herself from tumbling down the stairs, trying to shake his face from her head. As she reached her own room below, she sighed heavily, unable to make sense of her fluttering heart or racing mind. She scolded herself; he was a man, and men were evil, filthy creatures. She hated men, the very sight of them repulsed her; so why didn't she hate _him_? She'd known him less than an hour, and yet in that time, he'd become the first man seven years, who had held a proper conversation with the baker. She sighed, flopping down onto her floral bedspread; perhaps men weren't _all_ bad. She couldn't help the silly grin which graced her features as she pictured his beautiful face, already memorised by her heart. He _was_ beautiful. Her expression suddenly changed to that of a scowl, frowning at herself for her foolishness. She knew better than anyone the things men were capable of, and she knew she'd just opened herself up to the entire range. Beautiful or not, he was a man, and men, _all_ of them, were despicable, cruel and vile; she knew it for a fact. But she was wrong.

In the following years, the young barber changed her views. The pair grew to be close friends, and Nellie knew she had never admired nor cared for anyone so wholly. She loved him irrefutably, but silently and secretly. The two of them spent afternoons, evenings, mornings and even nights together, enjoying the others company whenever seemed fit. She came to realise that men could love without needing women's' bodies in return; that there was more to love that _making_ love.

The baker suddenly shivered, roused from her memories as the rain began to fall. Ben was gone; leaving Sweeney. She rose from her seat on the hard crate, unaware of how long she must have been there. She remembered the way Sweeny had taken her, in the same manner as her father, drunk, violent, uncaring, and crazed with lust. Granted, she had wanted it, but not like that. She shuddered, she could still feel her fathers rough lips and calloused hands on her milky flesh. She saw the man, still staring at her, unmoving at the end of the lane. She shook her head, shuddering as she left the alley to return home. Men were all the same; all of them.

--


	18. Crystals of Jealousy

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

…_She shook her head, shuddering as she left the alley to return home. Men were all the same-all of them..._

Mrs. Lovett scurried around her pie emporium, dropping pies and jugs of frothy ale off at the ends of tables. The poor woman stopped still a second, pausing to catch her breath. She was already a week behind schedule, and the rush of a Tuesday night wasn't doing her any favours. She'd been meaning to prepare for the dance a week ahead, seeing as she'd be hosting dinner for large groups no doubt, but she hadn't even _ordered_ the extra ingredients. At least she had managed to finish the curtains for the barber's parlour; not that he'd been all that happy. The look on his face had been almost hilarious, as she tied up the emerald curtains the previous day; he'd evidently been expecting the crimson material he'd asked for. She shook her head, amused; oh, if looks could kill!

She waltzed back towards the bench, collecting the now empty plates of customer along the way. She glanced quickly in the direction of the bakehouse. She really _should_ be heading down there, but she grabbed yet another jug from the cluttered bench and headed out to the crowded dining area outside, intentionally delaying the hard work ahead. She sighed, placing the jug down softly, she knew she'd soon enough be amongst the fresh corpses, hacking away at their limbs. She didn't _really_ mind the work at all, save for the fact that it took so much effort. She's actually surprised herself when the barber and herself had begun their little 'trade'; cutting up human corpses seemed like second nature to her. To her, the human bodies were no different to the scarce animals she'd used to fill her pies before Mr. Todd's arrival, and she found no difficulty in severing limb from limb. There we times, in fact, where she quite enjoyed her ghastly chores; seeing the lifeless shock, the terror, frozen on the victims faces, gave her some form of sick satisfaction. Seeing the faces of men, filthy men, cold, scared, and lifeless, made her feel sometimes giddy with relief.

_But why?_

It wasn't the first time she'd pondered the question of _why_ she was capable of such monstrous acts; but only now, did she realise exactly why. Revenge. Hacking apart the bodies of men was somehow a payment for all she had suffered; for her father's doings in particular. She was no better then the demon barber above her, and she knew it. She knew it was immoral, illegal, and simply wrong, but she didn't care. Her suffering; from her stolen childhood, to her shattered heart, seemed enough to justify her actions in _her_ part of the bargain. She needed her cleaver, as much as Sweeney needed his 'friends' and quite frankly, she didn't see anything wrong with the fact.

"Mrs. Lovett?" a quirky voice called, causing an abrupt halt to the baker's musings.

"Hmmm dearie?" she said, trying to locate the origins of the voice.

"Over here!"

"Oh, Charlotte!" the baker exclaimed, rushing towards the regular customer, "'ow are ya love?"

"Fine, just fine."

"'aven't seen you for a while dear, where ya been at?" the baker said, seating herself across from the young lady, content to be talking, rather than working.

"Oh, I've been up in Newcastle, ordering fabrics for my dress," she said, her eyes dancing with excitement.

"You're going then?"

"Oh yes! The dance will be fantastic!" she exclaimed, her tone suggesting that it wasn't _just_ the dance she was looking forward to.

"Pretty girl like yourself, ya probably got yourself 'undreds o' men wantin' to take ya, who you goin' with?" the widow asked, grinning, though she knew the answer already.

"Thom- Mr. Fray," she said, colouring slightly.

"Ahh, 'e's a fine one, you 'old onto 'im," the baker advised, smiling at the honest emotion she could trace though the young woman's eyes.

"I plan to," she smiled, "are you going?"

"No love," she said, almost laughing at the notion.

"Why ever not!?" Charlotte exclaimed, evidently expecting that the widow would go.

"I don't dance," she said, trying not to sound _too_ rehearsed, "I used'ta dance a lot, when I was younger, s'pose I find _less occasion_ for it now" she finished, feeling that indeed her excuse seemed far to rehearsed to be believable. The younger woman however, took it.

"Oh," the young woman said, disappointed.

"Anyways love, I best be back to work," she said, leaving in order to escape the rather touchy subject. Truth be told she hadn't been to a single dance since Lucy's introduction, and _that_ had most certainly been a mistake. The baker stood, rushing to the bakehouse as she relived the warm night.

"Ben!" the excited girl called out, glad to have finally found him.

"Ah, there you are! I've been waiting almost an hour for you!"

Nellie smiled, nearly melting to the floor right then and there.

She flailed her arms, gesturing towards all aspects of the lavishly decorated room a she began her excuse.

"Well I've been doing rounds, introducing Lucy to everybody…" she said, already flushing under his gaze.

"Busy then? But don't forget Nellie, you owe me a dance!" he said though not really wanting to leave her.

"No, no, she's taken to showing herself around, I'm free for now," she said trailing off as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling.

The ballroom was splendidly decorated, deep crimson curtains hung from the ceilings, blanketing the windows and creating a sensual aura. The chandeliers, each dazzling with clean cut crystals, illuminated the room in a warm light, providing an advantage to all those of pale skin. The room was crowded, though not overly so, couples dancing already in the centre of the room, whilst friends and lovers chatted over beverages and delicacies available from the banquet table near the end of the hall. Neither of the pair felt worthy of such surroundings, but each had somehow managed to merit an invitation to the Galleyah's house.

"Breathtaking isn't it?" she said, turning her eyes back to him; an equally breathtaking sight.

"Yes…" he said softly, though his eyes were cast not at the surroundings, but at a rather stunning blonde, racing towards the pair.

"Nellie!" the blonde said, taking her friend by the arm, "I just met Lorraine, oh she's charming! If you had of told me you had such friends I would have visited _long_ ago, but all you ever did was talk about that man…is he here?" she questioned, quite oblivious to the man standing directly in front of her.

"No," the baker started, "No, not yet."

"Shame," the blonde replied, twirling her hair.

In the warm glow of the room, Nellie's friend really _did_ seem to shine. She light softened the pale tone of her skin, and seemed to create a halo of perfection around her crown of golden hair. The pale blue gown which she wore was flattering, giving notice to her slender figure.

"Yes…" Nellie said, almost gaping at her friends beauty. How was it that such models of perfection could be crafted, without a single, tiny, flaw?

"Now Ben, you've heard me mention Lucy? Miss Patton?"

The blonde looked up at her name, suddenly becoming aware of their company, smiling sweetly at the man that met her eyes.

"Oh so _this_ is the stunning Miss Patton?" he said, beaming.

She smiled daintily, "Yes, I am."

"Benjamin Barker," he said, tilting his head down, as was custom, "charmed im sure."

"Ben stays in the room above me, he has his own tonsorial parlour," Nellie chimed in, though sensing she didn't quite exist to the pair any longer.

Nellie stayed silent, watching intently as the pair began to converse, questioning each other on their lives, upbringings, holidays and whatever else seemed to pop into their minds. Lucy seemed at ease, she seemed her usual self, though she _did_ smile a little too brightly, and twirl her golden locks a little too often, but other than that, she seemed her normal, unaffected self. Benjamin however, seemed positively changed. Though still the ever charming gentleman, he seemed…flustered? She shook her head, straitening the crimson ribbon laced through her hair, she thought she'd never live to see _Benjamin Barker_ flustered. It didn't seem possible, but yet here he stood, speaking with as much vehemence as she'd ever seen, his face flushed a most handsome shade of pink.

"Do you dance Miss Patton?" Benjamin inquired suddenly, breaking Nellie's observations.

"Lucy, please!" the blonde insisted, "and yes, I'd love to."

"You don't mind if I steal your friend for just one dance, do you Nel'?"

The look in his eyes made her swoon, and she couldn't refuse, soon watching the pair of them take to the floor as though nothing and no-one else existed.

At first, she had not understood, watching blankly as her best friend danced flawlessly with the man she loved, taking dance, after dance, after dance. But Nellie was sharp, and it took her not much longer to twig to the rather unsettling notion; Ben was taken with Lucy. She was surprised, she hadn't thought him the type to be flustered by the giggling blonde, but yet there they were, evidently having forgotten her as they commenced yet another dance. It made sense, she was beautiful, simply radiant, and it would be a miracle if any man _hadn't_ been taken by her beauty. But Ben _couldn't_ be taken with Lucy…she'd thought, well, she'd hoped…the small woman sighed; she didn't know _what_ she'd thought. All she knew was that some small knot of envy was beginning to lodge itself in the pit of her stomach, and she didn't like the way it felt.

The night slowly passed away, and though she did find herself on the dance floor a few times, she was never once held in the arms of the one man she wished to dance with. As Nellie made her way over to the table, she finally caught a glimpse of the pair, standing not on the dance floor, but at the end of the table, sipping refreshments. In that one moment, in that tiny glance, she felt somehow insignificant; as thought she didn't have the liberty enough to approach them. She frowned, telling herself not to be so childish, but nevertheless, as she walked towards the pair, the uneasy churning of her stomach did not subside.

"There you two are!" she said, smiling warmly in order to conceal her angst.

"Oh, Nellie!" Benjamin looked up, averting his eyes from the gorgeous blonde for a moment, "where have you been?"

"Dancing," she said, "a little."

"Benny has been telling me how excited you were for my visit," Lucy cut in, smiling.

The young baker tried not to grimace at the sickly sweet tone of her voice. It made her ill, the way his name sounded from her perfect lips; _Benny._ She smiled, pushing away the voice that told her she'd best be getting used to the sound.

"Oh, he has?"

"I have," he said, though now returning his eyes to Lucy, "and I must say, your descriptions of her _are_ most accurate- perfect."

Nellie tried to ignore how positively radiant the blonde looked as she blushed at his compliments. She tried to ignore the way he'd turned back to his dance parent, instead of giving his full attention, as she was used to. She really did _try_ to ignore the way his eyes seemed to have taken on a new shade, shining ever so beautifully as he gazed at Lucy's face. She did try, heavens know she tried- but she failed. There was no mistaking the way each seemed to glow; no mistaking the way they saw not the curtains nor candles, but only each other. And there was certainly no mistaking the sudden pang of jealousy which shot through the baker like lightening.

"You two dance well," Nellie said, cutting into their shared world.

"Yes, Miss Patton is a lovely dancer," Ben replied beaming.

"Oh, Nel'! I completely forgot! Where is the man you wrote about?!" Lucy inquired, suddenly bursting to life.

"Sorry?" the baker asked, hoping to the Gods that she wasn't asking her the identity of the man who owned her heart.

"Oh come on Nel'! Surely you can tell Benny too!" she said, flashing a startlingly beautiful smile in the man's direction.

"We can share secrets, no?" the young barber questioned.

"Of course…" she replied, fiddling with her ribbons.

"Well then, show me -_us_- the man who holds the key to your heart, who you believe holds regard for you too."

The baker gritted her teeth; had she _really_ believed he felt something, _anything_ for her? Had she been so blissfully blind to the fact that she was nothing more than a friend? How could she have been so stupid-so _foolish?_ Lucy was smiling, even in waiting for a reply; even when she wasn't trying to impress, she was positively stunning . The man who indeed held the key to Nellie's heart stood next to the blonde, the look in his eyes no less than that of pure adoration as he gazed at her perfect features. The young baker held back her tears, nearly choking on her words as she replied, her mind beating at her foolishness.

"He didn't come," she said softly, hoping that her lies were somewhat believable.

She didn't like to lie; it wasn't in her nature, but what choice did she have? She couldn't very well reveal that the man she loved was nothing short of falling for her best friend! She frowned, trying to hide her tears, but nevertheless, as she looked at the pair, he glassy eyes were instantly noticeable.

"Oh Nellie!" Benjamin said, swooping her into a comforting hug, "I'm sure he had a very good reason for not being beside you tonight- no man in his right senses would leave you alone."

He looked her in the eyes as he pulled back to his former position, beside Miss Patton and for a split second, her heart raced, before slowing to a much more dejected pace.

_A very good reason __indeed._

Nellie shook her head, clearing her thoughts; tonight was supposed to be fun!

"Sorry about that," she said weakly, smiling apologetically.

"Don't be," Lucy said almost _too_ sweetly, "well, im going to go get a new glass, anything for you Nel'?"

The baker shook her head, "no thankyou."

"Benny?"

"Same as you."

Lucy waltzed off to the next table, gliding through the crowds with ease.

"You like her then?" Nellie asked, as soon as they were alone.

"Yes, she's charming," he said, "you're very lucky to have her as a friend."

"Yes," she replied "I am."

The pair suddenly fell into silence, an occurrence that had hardly, if ever, occurred before. It sent chills down the baker's spine; she was so used to the natural ease of conversation with him, why were things so suddenly awkward?

For ten minutes, the pair sat in silence, waiting and watching for the blonde to reappear. Benjamin was the first to break the silence.

"Well, it doesn't look like we're getting out drinks…" he said, trailing of as he searched the crowd for Lucy's perfect figure.

"No…"

"I think I'll go grab them, are you thirsty?" he said, turning away from her slightly.

She shook her head, a single auburn curl falling from its pin.

"Then I think I'll join Miss Patton, if you don't mind," he said. It wasn't a question, rather, a fact.

He turned from her, already walking towards the crowd. She stared after him as he left, dumbstruck. Never had she seen him so…cold? Never had she known him to be inattentive to what she _really_ felt. And never, _never_, had she felt so betrayed.

"Ben!" she cried out after him, the sound of her strangled voice nearly lost in the crowd.

He turned back towards her, pulling her to him in a warm hug. She couldn't contain herself any longer, sobbing silently against his shoulder as he held her close. He soothed her, stroking her hair to comfort. As her crying ceased, he pulled from her, turning her head to face him.

"It's his loss Nellie," he started, knowing her tears for those of heartbreak, "he must have had a bloody good reason."

_He certainly __had._

The widow shook her head, retrieving the hot pies from the oven. No, she would never again see the smooth polished floor of a ballroom; she refused to be subject to her own cruel memories. Still, as she headed back up the cold stairs to her shop, she couldn't help but smile excitement that Charlotte held for the event. Dancing may be ruined for her, but she couldn't wait to hear the details of the elaborate ballroom from yet _another_ customer.

--

For those of you who are interested, i have created a 'age timeline', for Nellie's age through the events which have happened-

11 years old: Mother left the family for another man. 12 years old: Molested and raped by her father. 17 years of age: Killed her father, fled to London. 19 years old: Already set up her own bakery, meet Benjamin Barker. 24 years of age- writes letters to Lucy, inviting her to stay, Ben and Lucy first meet at the dance. 25 years old: Ben and Lucy are married. 26 years old: Johanna is born, Nellie marries Albert. 27 years old: Benjamin is captured and deported.

Of course, I have filled in only events that you are aware of (Albert, Johanna ect), and i may have left out other events of my own. But who knows? :) By the way, this leaves her now, at 43 years old.

Also, (yes, im still going) it has come to mention a couple of times, the matter of Nellie Lovett's name. Here's how i have written it for myself. 'Lovett', is Nellie's maiden name. When she married Alberrt, she had already established her named buisness as a baker, and changing her name was far too much of a complication to buisness, and to herself- therefore, when married, and then widowed, her name did never change. Of course, this is only my take on things, as it was the easiest for me to play with.


	19. Love? Lucy?

_

* * *

_

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

_...Dancing may be ruined for her, but she couldn't wait to hear the details of the elaborate ballroom from yet __another__ customer…_

Mrs. Lovett sat alone at the table, for once, quite content to be so. She had become almost accustomed to having only herself as company, and though there was somebody else whom she'd _much_ rather be spending her time with, she didn't mind the chance at peace today.

The night of the dance had been exciting, even for her; the colourful, elegant dresses were enough to catch _anyone's_ eye, but it was the couples in particular, so carefree and so in love, that _really_ caught the baker's attention. It was beautiful to watch, but however spectacular the sight was, it still held the very sharp reminder of what she could have had. She remembered sitting at the table, where she now seated herself, months after the dance, talking to Mr. Barker alone for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

"Nellie, I can't tell you how happy I am that you've let her stay here longer," Benjamin said, smiling the baker's favourite smile.

"Not at all, Mr. Barker," she said resisting the urge to smile back, "my pleasure."

"Lucy _does_ appreciate it, she simply hasn't found the proper way to thank you yet," he said, oblivious to the flicker of jealousy that sparked in the young baker's eyes.

"I'm sure, Mr. Barker," she said softly, though there was no hiding the trace of disbelief in her words.

"How many times must I insist? Call me Benjamin, please!"

"Of course," she said, avoiding his eyes.

It didn't feel right to call him by his first name, it seemed too…familiar. It seemed something she would have done _before_ Lucy had arrived, in the days when she would spend countless hours with him, and him with her. Now, she hardly felt as if she knew him at all; they hardly spoke, hardly saw each other, and even _this_ was the first time she'd spoken to him alone in months. She felt the need to address him so formally, as though she had not, in fact, known him for five years.

"Nel', I'm sorry I haven't had much time for you lately,-" he started, recognising her reasons for formality.

"It's fine" she said quickly; she did _not_ want to know where this was going.

"No, its not, I'm sorry, I've missed you, I've just been so busy, and Lucy…"

"Its _fine,_" she interrupted again; now she _really_ didn't want to know.

"I just can't tear myself away from her, even if I wanted to," he said, ignoring her interruptions, "I can't thank you enough for bringing her here, she's…special."

"You've only known her two months," she said, her voice coming out a tad sharper than intended.

"Yes, but I-, I think we have something. Does she talk about me?"

"A little," she said meekly.

"Well, does she like me?"

"She doesn't _dislike_ you," she said, not wanting to encourage him, "why?"

"Nellie, does she _like_ me?" he said.

She'd known what he meant the first time he'd asked, but, as selfish as it was, she didn't _want_ to tell him. She sighed, replying.

"Yes, she likes you," she said softly, "do you like _her_?"

"Yes."

"How much?" she asked.

She hardly needed to ask, the answer was plain for anyone to see in his eyes, but if there were any chance that she were imagining it, she'd take it; she had to hear it from him, to believe it.

"Very much," he said.

She watched him as he averted his gaze from her own; he looked-was he…embarrassed?

"Do you," she started, knowing she would regret asking, "_love_ her?"

She gritted her teeth as she waited for his answer. Why did she do this to herself? Why, when she could just happily ignore the fact that he held feelings for friend, did she need to have these answers? Her curious nature often got the better of her, and she knew she'd pay for it this time; after all, curiosity killed the cat.

"I think so," he said, suddenly looking as alive as she had ever seen him.

"You've only known her two months!" she exclaimed, hoping, _praying_ that her voice wouldn't give way the way her heart was.

"I know, but you, of all people Nellie," he said, sounding almost desperate for her to understand, "even though you've had no taste of it, you _must_ know that love needs no timeframe."

Unfortunately, he was right; she _did_ know.

"Yes," she said softly, struggling to accept what he'd said.

"Thankyou, I don't know what I can do to repay you Nel', you've been my saviour," he said, meaning every word.

"Oh don't be silly Ben, all I want is your friendship," she said, thinking it wise not to reveal what she _really_ wanted.

"Always," he said, smiling.

Before she could allow herself to smile back, he was gone, rushing upstairs to the call of a certain blonde.

The young baker stared blankly at the chair where he had been only moments ago, contemplating the possibility of what she'd just been told. Surely he couldn't _love_ Lucy; not in the brief two months they'd known each other. Not when she'd been waiting five _years_ to no avail- it didn't seem possible. No, it was just a phase, a fleeting romance, no more than that; it _couldn't_ be more than that. But the look he'd seen in his eyes, the few seconds of real passion they'd held, told her it certainly was more than a passing fancy, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't help but doubt her own forced conclusions. She stared after him, her eyes fixed on the door he'd passed through. He couldn't love Lucy, it wasn't fair. Had all her efforts gone to waste? Had her hopes been blinded by her own feelings? No, she couldn't have wasted her dreams. She loved him. She loved him more than _anything_. Armed with that simple fact, she knew he'd eventually love her; he had to.

The widow sighed, pulled from her daydream as a crash sounded from above; it'd be the end of her before he did was he was _supposed_ to do.

Above her, the demon barber waged a not-so-silent war upon himself. He scowled, pacing the musky room, angry, _seething_ at himself. He chanted his wife's name, over and over in his mind, desperately seeking a memory of her beautiful face.

_Lucy,  
Lucy,  
Lucy?_

But as hard as he might try, the barber simply couldn't picture her beautiful, angelic face. He _knew_ she was beautiful, but he couldn't _see_ it. He cursed, hurling yet another plate towards the wall; he could remember nothing of his wife, not her face, her smell, her touch, not even her voice. Only her hair, and even _that_ was beginning to take on an auburn tinge. _No!_ What was wrong with him?! Every time he got close to the image of his wife, it was replaced by a very clear image of a certain baker, naked beneath him. No, he didn't need her again! He gritted his teeth, almost growling, reminded by his body that in fact, he very much did. He could hardly remember how it had started; only that he'd been drunk, and she'd been easy. Since then, their _'encounters' _had become a stress relief; rough, brutal, and painfully satisfying. After all, fifteen years away _was_ a long time, and all that time away had built up a thirst for more than just revenge. But, as suddenly as their fiasco had started, it stopped. She'd walked into his parlour and had left without a single touch, not being undressed mentally _or_ physically. At the loss of their couplings, the widow had found herself surprisingly disappointed; a fact that she hadn't been able to hide all too well from Mr. Todd.

And so, the barber and his ever willing accomplice had spent the past three months without a single touch of the other, and now, at breaking point, the man found himself craving her body in the most carnal of ways.

--


	20. Am I Dreaming?

**a/n:** Ah yes, this chapter _does_ contain sex, so if you don't like it, well, don't read it ;]

* * *

Chapter Twenty

* * *

…_And so, the barber and his ever willing accomplice had spent the past three months without a single touch of the other, and now, at breaking point, the man found himself craving her body in the most carnal of ways…_

He could have _screamed_ as he heard her enter the room. She couldn't have picked a worse time if she'd _tried_.

"What's the ma'er love?" she asked, her thick accent cutting through the silence.

"Out."

"Only I 'eard an awful crash," the widow continued, ignoring the haunted glare her fixed her with, "an' I jus' came to see if you was alrigh'."

The barber fixed her with a glare of utter loathing; he wanted to throttle the woman- _badly_. He nearly cursed aloud, hating himself for wanting to do far more than that, much, much more desperately. But he still had control; from behind the chair he was hidden, and if he could just get her out…

"So wha' 'appened?" she cut in, interrupting his thoughts, "or do ya jus' smash plates for fun?"

He gritted his teeth, glaring daggers, as images of her begun to fog his vision; _damn_ the infernal woman.

"Get. Out."

He gripped the back of the chair tightly, his appearance one that would have been terrifying to anyone _but_ the dangerously oblivious baker. He wanted to hit her, he wanted to kick her, harm her, hurt her, _kill_ her. But he could do none of these, because at that very moment, there was something else he wanted _much_ more.

"Out" he repeated, knowing that his self-control could not outlast his desire for her delicious body much longer. He could practically _feel_ her beneath him; _around_ him. It was too much to know she'd give in, too much to know he could have exactly what he wanted; he'd take what she offered, knowing he'd tear himself up over it later.

Sweeny crossed the room, flipping out his razor and pushing it to her neck routinely, almost growling as he backed her to the wall. The widow rolled her eyes as she felt his manhood press against her; oh, so they were back to _that_ again were they?

"I said," he started, claiming her lips in a brutal kiss, "get out."

Mrs. Lovett made no attempt to leave –not that his grip on her would have allowed it- and the barber smiled maliciously, dropping the razor from her neck; she was his anyway.

The widow nearly sighed as he assaulted her lips again; she'd known they'd be at it again eventually, but she hadn't expected it so soon. For a moment, she pondered the possibility of leaving, denying him access to what he needed. She knew what she was setting herself up for if she stayed; she'd be made silent, he'd insult her, always making sure she _knew_ it wasn't her he was thinking of –throwing in his wife's name every now and then for effect. And brutal; brutal, hard and fast- such was his nature.

She felt his hot tongue brush her lips again, demanding entrance, and she succumbed, parting her lips. She gave up, shifting a little in response as he began to pull roughly at the material concealing her chest. She supposed she didn't _entirely_ dislike his nature. She really didn't want it like this, but a familiar heat between her legs told her she didn't exactly want to leave either.

Sweeney bit hungrily along her neck, sampling her ivory skin, growling in disapproval as she arched her back in response; _disgusting_. Finishing his battle with the ties of her dress, (the now discarded razor proved an unfair advantage), his hands wandered eagerly to her ample chest, with his mouth in hot pursuit.

She let out a weak moan, strangled and too soft for him to hear, as his mouth found her breast, gasping in delight as he nipped at the precious skin.

"You're a slut, you know that?" he growled, tracing rough kisses back up to her jaw line, "a filthy slut."

"Yes Mr.T" she breathed, moving her hands to his belt, craving him now as much as he was her.

The barber shot her a deathly glare, pushing her hands away. He stepped apart from her for mere seconds, ordering, _commanding_ her to rid herself of her undergarments; he had no time for frills and dainty laces today. The widow, for once, did as she was told, repressing a smile as he pinned her to the wall again, heisting her skirts- _he wanted her!_

It was stupid, she _knew_ he didn't, she _knew_ it wasn't her in his thoughts, she _knew_ she was wrong, but in these frantic moments, she _knew_ nothing. Despite her better judgment, she'd let herself believe it; let herself believe that he wanted her, needed her, _loved_ her. Why? She didn't know. Perhaps she really _was_ insane. She knew believing her foolish hopes would only twist the knife already embedded cruelly in her heart, but when logic disappeared to her body's desires, there was nothing she could do. It was a vicious game; one that she was – regardless of _her_ opinions- doomed to play for all eternity.

Sweeney lifted her a little against the wall, ridding himself of his torturous trousers as she wrapped her legs around him. The barber thrust into her, unable to wait any longer, almost weakened by the sensation; God, how had he waited so _long?!_

How she forced herself to stay silent as he entered her, she had no idea, it was enough to make the small woman burst. Her silence, however, was short lived, unable to repress her moans as he moved inside her. The barber froze, glaring at her with what little concentration he had left.

"You will be silent," he spat, glancing at the discarded razor, "or it will all be over."

She nodded sharply as he took to her again, thrusting into her roughly. She gripped his shoulders tight, pulling at the shirt that she knew he would never remove- not for her, not for _anyone_. It was all she could do not to rip the damn thing from his body, desperately fighting back her cries as he pounded her; it was torture to be made silent, but _bloody hell,_ it was worth it.

In her now rather clouded mind, she realised the insults were fast approaching, and she braced herself for the onslaught of abuse as she felt him pick up the pace. She held to him tight, clawing at his shirt, struggling to suppress her moans as he began to pound her harder; the beast within him surfacing.

"You're a whore. A filthy, disgusting, repulsive, whore," he growled, his words coming in equal time to his thrusts.

"Dirty whore," he seethed, "whore, whore, whore."

His insults barely registered in her foggy mind, letting out a strangled moan, and almost pathetic sound, as she climaxed, shuddering against him. Her release drove him on, and he bit at her neck hungrily, thrusting frantically.

"Whore, whore, whore, who-," he cried, spilling inside her, "Lucy…"

Surprisingly, hearing him cry his wife's name, rather than her own, did not hurt her as it once had. It sounded fake, almost dreamlike, as though it couldn't really reach her. She supposed she had become used to it- _immune_.

He pulled away from her silently, fixing his clothing without a second glance at the woman, as she slid to the floor, breathless.

As soon as rational thought returned to the baker, she bit her lip, hoping he'd been too distracted to notice her cries. It really wasn't her fault, it was _impossible_ to stay silent when it felt so _good!_

Mrs. Lovett nearly laughed aloud, a wicked grin crossing her face as she registered the hidden humour in _his_ cries; combining the name of his oh-so-virtuous wife with an insult- ironically, the mad woman's occupation. Ha, to think what he'd say if he knew!

The barber saw her idiotic smile, consumed once again with the urge to throttle her; the _nerve_ of that woman!

"Fix your bloody clothes up and get out!" he yelled, infuriated; frustrated beyond reason, for reasons he couldn't quite grasp.

She stood, almost pouting as she proceeded to dress herself- only to be interrupted halfway. _What?_ Was she hearing things? Did he-_No_. The baker shook her head, he couldn't have just called her to him.

"Nellie," he cooed, "come here, love."

She eyed him warily for a moment, not willing to trust him. But she couldn't resist the sudden fluttering, no, _hammering_ of her heart as she moved towards him, half dressed.

_Don't,_ she warned herself as she walked towards his outstretched arms, _don't believe it, don't let yourself fall for it._ She gritted her teeth against her own warnings, believing wholeheartedly that he wanted her in his arms. Against her better judgment, she allowed her heart to race, allowed herself to become euphoric as his arms circled her waist.

"Hmmm…Mr. Todd" she hummed lightly, refusing to accept this for any _less_ than the truth.

"Nellie…" he breathed, pressing her back to him.

She was very nearly dizzy with happiness; it was perfect! He loved her, he _must_ love her. His arms were tight around her, but somehow gentle, and she wanted to stay there forever, with him.

"I believe you broke the rules my pet," he said acidly.

"What?" she questioned, confused. His words seemed strange; the tone was all wrong. They didn't fit, didn't _belong_ in her dream-world.

She heard him snicker from behind her, something she mistook for a good thing…

"Ow!" she cried, pulled from her trance by a sharp sting in her side. She glanced down to where a shining silver razor cut into her skin, leaving burning hot rubies behind.

"I told you," the barber growled, shoving her face first onto the hard floor, "to be _silent_."

And just like that, the baker was reunited, unwillingly, with reality. The dream was gone. Faded, lost, _over_.

It was silent after he left, slamming the door behind him, and she lay there, cursing herself for her own stupidity How could she have been so stupid? He would never love her, she knew that for a fact, but, like the stubborn woman she was, she refused to believe it; refused to take fact to heart. And now, because of her own faults, _she_ was left to suffer. _She_ was left to bear the consequences of her foolishness. It was her own fault, he could wrap her round his little finger, and she let him. It was her own fault, her own damned heart that let her down every time. She knew she shouldn't let herself believe any of his games anymore, it was always a lie, but she knew she always would. She knew she'd fall for it the next time. She knew there would _be_ a next time. And she knew she'd have the same argument with herself the very next time she happened to crash and burn. She couldn't fight it- she'd given up long ago.

The baker scrambled to her feet, fiddling with the laces and ties of her dress as she made herself presentable. At least he hadn't torn her dress this time, that was a good thing. She smiled a weak smile as she faced the mirror; she was pathetic.

_God, Nellie, you're a bloody wreck._

With one last rather pointless straightening of her skirts, the widow headed down the stairs to her shop, wincing as the rough material scraped against her newest gash- a constant reminder of the day's happenings.

It was late that night before Mrs. Lovett left the bakehouse for good, only coming up beforehand to serve a few customers or clear the odd drunk from her shop. Now that they were well and truly closed, the widow gathered she could return without having to see the barber who resided above her.

"Oh, mum, I was jus' 'oppin' off to bed, anythin' you want me do to before I goes?" Toby asked, appearing from behind her workbench, dishrag in hand.

"No dearie, you've done enough today," she said, smiling warmly, "off ya pop to bed."

"Night mum!" he said, reaching her and giving her a quick hug, "see ya in the mornin!"

"Night, love."

It was silent again, almost eerie, as the baker picked up the rag and began to wipe down the ever-dirty bench. She looked up, surprised, as she heard a sharp knock on the door.

"Nellie? Are you there?" a sweet, female voice called.

The widow was frozen with surprise; nobody in the pits of London knew her by her first name…

"Nel'?" the voice called again, seeming further off this time.

Mrs. Lovett placed the rag on the table as she moved towards the door.

"'ello?" the baker called as she opened the door, finding nobody.

"Anyone out 'ere?"

Funny, she could've sworn she'd heard somebody…

"Mum?" the small boy called from behind her.

"Oh! Toby don't _do_ that! Gimme a bloody 'eart attack ya will!"

"Sorry," he said, "but what are ya doin' at the door mum?"

"Oh, s'nothin' love, though' I 'eard someone out there," she said, "must've been me tired 'ead playin' tricks on me ey?"

"Oh," the boy said, looking slightly confused, "oh, well-"

"You jus' pop back into bed love, t'was only me imagination" she said calmly.

"Alright, night mum."

"Night, love."

As soon as she was alone again, the widow exhaled sharply. Nobody knew her by her first name here, _nobody_. She shook her head sharply, locking the door and heading for her room.

_It was just your imagination…_

_--_


	21. I'm Not Blind

_

* * *

_

Chapter Twenty One

* * *

_..As soon as she was alone again, the widow exhaled sharply. Nobody knew her by her first name here, __nobody__. She shook her head sharply, locking the door and heading for her room.__It was just your imagination…_

It had been a month. A whole goddamn month. A month of disregard by day, and loving–if one would dare call it that-, by night. The widow hadn't felt the time pass her by, but it _had_ been a month nonetheless. A month of brutal, harsh, uncaring, _fantastic_ sex.

_Sex that shouldn't be happening…_

_Ugh._ The baker clenched her teeth against the thought; she'd had this argument with herself far too many times already. Each time she decided to end it, she'd back out of the resolution; she had the scars to prove it.

She knew people were talking, it _was_ London after all and her emporium was the meeting place for some of the most notorious gossips she'd ever known. It bothered her, she didn't _enjoy_ being made out as a common slut, but she could deal with it; she was above that. What annoyed her the most was that Mr. Todd _enjoyed_ having them talk about her- regardless of whether she cared or not. He took pleasure in seeing the looks they gave her, they way they flickered their eyes from her to him whenever she'd been gone more than a moment- it _amused_ him. He gave them things to talk about; stealing her from the midst of crowds, or leaving dubious marks trailed on her neck. It frustrated her- it was downright annoying!

Thankfully, in the previous week, the crowds had found something else to gossip about; the new city goer, who it seemed everyone had bumped in to, except, of course, the baker.

"Ma'am?"

"Yessum?" Mrs. Lovett turned, placing the half-clean plate down on the bench, to face an older woman; no doubt a member of the numerous gossip groups.

"Have you heard from Miss. Carrington yet?" the woman asked, her posh tone sounding almost ridiculous in the pits of the baker's environment.

"Don't know 'er love," she replied, smiling politely.

"Oh, well she is recently come, from the north," she elder woman said.

The baker nearly laughed aloud at the importance the snob seemed to imply in coming from the northern parts of England; she'd lived there too.

"That's the dear that everyone keeps chattin' 'bout?"

"Yes, she's looking for you, you know?" the woman said, seeming almost envious that this new woman seeking the simple baker's attentions.

The widow had heard about the young lady visiting London many times before, for apparently, there was a vast amount to talk about. As far as she'd heard, the girl was quite pretty, polite, but didn't seem comfortable with her surrounding company. So why would this woman want to see her?

"Me?"

"Yes ma'am," the woman replied, sound bored that there was nothing to feed her gossip any longer.

"Oh, well, I'm always 'ere, I'll keep an eye out for 'er then ey?" the baker said, turning her attention back to the work at hand.

"Yes."

Mrs. Lovett turned back to her chores, her mind racing and somewhat confused. What could this woman want with _her_ of all people?

Evening came and went, and with it both work and profits, and the baker was more than content to lock up for the night.

"There someone at the door mum!" Toby called from the parlour, just second before a sharp knock sounded from the shop door.

"Comin'!" the baker shouted, racing to the door.

"Nellie?!" the woman cried, as soon as the baker peered out from behind the door.

Mrs. Lovett recognised the voice instantly. She'd heard it many times before, calling her name at the market, Hyde Park, and outside the shop. She nearly smiled; so she _wasn't_ going crazy after all.

"Yes love, Nellie Lovett. Come in outta the cold love, ya gonna freeze out there" the baker replied, somewhat curious as to how this woman knew her name.

"Thankyou," the young woman said seating herself, "Nel' it's so good to see you again, I've been searching for weeks!"

The bakers eyes widened in surprise; _again?_ She was sure she'd never seen the woman in all her life. Still, to be sure, she studied her intently a few moments. She was striking, in an odd way. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, with not a single strand out of place and odd contrast to the gown, six inches deep in mud from the days wandering the dirty streets of London. Her eyes were soft, oceans of green and grey. She was too thin, as though she hadn't eaten for a week or two, but she held herself lightly, dismissing this fact. She spoke well, evidence that she was indeed from the north, and despite her appearance, everything about her screamed wealthy.

_So what does she want with me? _

"You don't know who I am, do you?" the younger woman asked, smiling as she saw the baker's vacant expression.

"Yer young Miss. Carrington, ain't ya?" she baker asked, though she was sure of the answer anyway.

"Yes, Nessa Carrington, but I meant-" she paused, "oh, perhaps this will help" she said, unclipping her hair and letting it fall to her shoulders.

"Nessa Carrington," the woman spoke softly, "formerly _Patton_."

Mrs. Lovett gasped; despite her raven black hair, emerald eyes and pale appearance, the similarities were startling. There was no denying it- the young lady was Lucy Patton's sister.

"Oh my God…" the baker breathed, "Nessa…"

"Good to finally see you again Nel'," Nessa replied, beaming.

The baker hardly heard a word; her heart was racing uncontrollably. Her worst nightmares now met her in reality; Nessa was Lucy's sister, _sister_ -what would happen if she bumped into her? Nessa couldn't see Lucy, she _couldn't_. She'd be done for, everything she'd worked for- gone. Nessa could ruin her.

"You too love!" she started, trying to control her voice, "where are ya staying, anyway?"

"Oh, I haven't got around to checking in anywhere…"

"Stay 'ere," she said, just a little too quickly.

If Nessa stayed with her, the baker was certain she could keep her out of Lucy's path, and avoid what would undoubtedly destroy her.

"What?" she asked, surprised at the offer.

"You can stay 'ere, I got a spare room, s'always plenty of food…"

"I don't want to impose-,"

"Ya won't be, c'mon," the baker pleaded.

"Alright, thankyou," Nessa replied, smiling.

"Welcome, so, what brings you 'ere?" the widow asked. With the issues now under control, she was able to concentrate on catching up with her friend.

"Actually, I'm here to see Mr. Barker," the woman said, glancing towards the ceiling.

Mrs. Lovett's heart froze.

"What?"

"There's some financial issues I need to settle with him-," she started, oblivious to the baker's horrified expression.

"Love," she said, trying to appear calm, despite her hyperactive heart, "I though' you all knew what 'appened?"

"Of course, and word back home is that he's back," she said, sounding sure of herself, "we heard that you were renting the room out again, and well, assuming the way you felt about it all-"

"What?!" Mrs. Lovett asked, her heart once again racing.

"Im not as blind as my sister was Nellie, and you're not as good an actor as you think; I remember you at the wedding. Anyway, I assumed you wouldn't rent it to anyone _but_ him, so I headed down here to meet up with him."

"It ain't 'im up there," the baker said, gesturing to the room above them, "Ben's still gone."

"Oh," Nessa said, evidently embarrassed.

"You'll still stay 'ere love?"

"Of course Nel', there's a lot to catch up on, after all."

"'aven't 'eard from any of you since, well, since all that."

"Tell me," Nessa said, sitting up suddenly.

"'bout what?"

"When he was taken," she replied, speaking softly- almost as though she understood the touchy subject.

"Oh," she said. She hadn't spoken about the matter to anybody before, ever. But Nessa was different, they were alike in so many ways, but so distant that secrets could be shared easily.

"Well, I mean, I was shocked, devastated, angry-"

"Heartbroken," Nessa cut in, knowingly.

"No," the baker responded, "t'was already broken. When 'e was gone, well, it just left me entirely."

The widow glanced quickly at her friend, nodding sadly.

"An' then after your sister…well, after all of tha', I was awful sad, an' lonely…"

"You hated her," Nessa said sharply.

"So did you," the widow replied.

"Yes, but I wasn't sad."

"I was. An' well, I watched Johanna for a while, an' Turpin took 'er, an' well, I jus' stayed 'ere, alone" Mrs. Lovett finished, smiling weakly.

"Your husband?" Nessa questioned.

"'e died 'bout ten years ago. 'ad a nice funeral an' all that," she explained.

"You didn't love him" Nessa said. It was not a question, but a statement, and all it took was one look into the widow's eyes to see its truth.

"'Course not."

"I should've visited Nel'. I should've seen you, at least after Lucy was gone, I could've been there for you, when Ben was gone, I could've helped-" she said, interrupted quickly.

"S'alright, s'in the past love" the baker said, smiling warmly.

"I know I hardly knew you when we were younger, and only through few letters after you left, when your father was killed, but you were much more my elder sister than she ever was" Nessa said, looking truly apologetic as she brushed her hair behind her ears.

"Thankyou love, it's good to 'ave ya 'ere," she replied, flattered; though it wouldn't take much to beat Lucy's family life, "it's late love, ya should be off to bed."

"Alright," Nessa replied, standing.

"Ya room's jus' down the hall, I'll be in me room if ya need me," the baker explained, moving towards her own room.

"Night Nel'"

"Night"

As Nellie walked towards her room, it was all she could do not to trip over her own feet in the hurry. She flopped down onto the floral pattern of her bedspread, exhausted, with only one thought lingering in her mind.

_God, what am I gonna tell Mr.T?_

--

a/n: So Lucy had a sister. They seem to have a deep connection huh? United over a common hate- Lucy.


	22. You Promised Me

_

* * *

_

Chapter Twenty Two

* * *

_As Nellie walked towards her room, it was all she could do not to trip over her own feet in the hurry. She flopped down onto the floral pattern of her bedspread, exhausted, with only one thought lingering in her mind.__God, what am I gonna tell Mr.T?_

The baker woke earlier than usual, rising from her bed just as the sun rose from its own. She sighed, smiling as she heard soft breaths echoing from the room down the hall; it was good to have her there. Mrs. Lovett frowned a little, pondering exactly how she was going to tell Mr. Todd about their visitor. She hadn't gotten around to it the night before. She shook her head, rounding the corner out of her parlour; she'd just have to tell him later today. She crossed the hall, only to be greeted by none other than the demon barber himself.

"Who is she?" he growled, gesturing toward the now occupied room at the end of the hall.

_Darn it._

She hadn't even had a moment to come up with a viable story.

"A friend."

"You don't _have_ any friends," he growled, evidently suspicious.

"From the ol' days. Up north" she explained. He knew enough of her past to believe the story.

"Who is she?" he asked again.

"'er name's Nessa Carrington."

"Why is she here?" he growled.

"She 'ad nowhere to stay, though' I'd let 'er stay 'ere" the baker explained.

"Get her out."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"Get. Her. Out" he threatened.

"No" she replied tartly.

"Get-"

"S'my 'ouse, Mr.T," she snapped, "an' I want 'er 'ere."

He only grunted in reply. He knew she was right. It _was_ her house, there was nothing he could do.

"She'll be up la'er, she can meet ya then," the baker said, determined.

"Fine," he responded, before turning to return to his own shop.

As soon as he was out of earshot, the widow sighed, cursing herself. _Meet him?_ Why in the world had she said that? She was almost certain that Nessa would not recognise him to be Benjamin, but he might just recognise her. Hell, then she'd _really_ be in trouble. She shook her head; she needn't worry. They'd only seen each other once before the wedding, and never again afterwards. Her memory suddenly jumped to the night before, flicking over her conversation with Nessa.

"_Im not as blind as my sister was Nellie, and you're not as good an actor as you think; I remember you at the wedding."_

It really wasn't a surprise that Nessa had seen through her charade. She'd always been observant, and Nellie hadn't been keeping her best poker face _that_ day. It was understandable though, it had been incredibly hard. She'd stood aside the altar, mere meters away from the man _she_ should have been marrying. Of course it was hard. She wouldn't have been there at all, if only her weak excuse of a friend hadn't asked her to be a bridesmaid. She remembered the day, as well as the tortuous arrangements, plainly.

It had been a long while since they'd been alone, or together at all really, and the young baker walked beside her once friend in silence. The awkwardness of the situation went unnoticed by Miss. Patton, who chatted eagerly beside her.

"Nel'," Lucy spoke, her voice suddenly shrill with excitement, "over here."

She followed the young lady to the shade of a tree, looking rather confused.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.

The blonde flashed a dazzling smile, excited.

"Sit down," she said.

The women sat, the pleats of their skirts creating a carpet across the grass.

"Well?" Nellie questioned again. Of course, she would never admit to it, but she _was_ genuinely curious.

"Well," the blonde spoke, giggling a little, "do you remember, years ago, way back when we were little girls, we said we'd always be friends?"

Nellie nodded slowly.

"Well, here we are" Lucy said softly.

The baker nearly laughed aloud. _Indeed_.

"Yes."

She blonde exhaled sharply, looking as though she might burst with excitement.

"And," she paused, exhaling sharply once again, "do you remember the day of our last carnival? The last before they cancelled it?"

She did remember. It had been a lovely day, but the news of the carnival closing permanently had sent clouds over the heads of all the children.

"Of course."

"Yes, well," she continued, twirling her golden hair, "we went to pier, remember? Do you remember what I asked you? What you promised?"

The young baker inhaled sharply. She couldn't mean _that_, surely…

"Do you?"

She nodded slowly.

It had been a beautiful day. The sun had risen early, and brought with it the ringing laughs of many children. Nellie Lovett was one of those children, skipping happily down to the sea shore for the last day of the summer carnival.

"Nellie! Wait up!"

She turned, laughing, to face her best friend.

"You so slow!" she laughed.

"You too fast for me Nel'!" the small blonde yelled, catching up.

"Slow poke," she teased, sticking her tongue out.

"Can we walk? Please?" she angelic blonde pleaded.

"No, we'll miss it! I wanna see the monkeys!"

"But it's so far!" she said.

"Is not! Come on!" the auburn haired girl shot back, racing off.

"Nellie!" the blonde called after her, but she was far out of earshot.

Ten minutes later, the auburn haired girl flopped down onto the sand.

"Jesus Nellie! You're so fast!" Lucy exclaimed, as soon as she'd reached the sand.

Nellie smiled, she loved running.

"Well, are we gonna go?" Nellie asked.

"Do you _ever_ rest Nel'?" the blonde asked, giggling.

"Nope."

The two girls ran into the crowd of excited children, but the atmosphere didn't feel right.

"What's happened?" Lucy whispered.

Nellie shrugged, "I don't know."

"Girls and boys!" somebody called from the stage, "please, hush!"

Nellie scrambled through the crowds, pushing to the front.

"Now, children," the tall man proceeded, "we are very sorry to tell you that there will no longer be a summer carnival after today."

The silence was heartbreaking.

"Enjoy your last day here," he continued, "and may the memories last you a lifetime."

Disappointed, the crowd of children set off to the various rides and activities. Nellie remained by the stage.

"Why?" she asked the man.

"Im sorry?"

"Why is it not coming back?"

"Well, my dear, there is not enough children here anymore," he said, sounding apologetic.

"Oh."

"We're sorry sweetie, we can't help it."

"It's okay," she said, pulling on her auburn tresses, "d'ya think it will ever be back again?"

"I don't know honey," he said, "I don't know."

"Okay," she said, before trudging towards her friend.

"It's never gonna be back Lulu," the small girl said, dejected.

"He said he didn't know.."

"It wont be, I know it" Nellie interrupted.

"How?" Lucy questioned, intrigued.

"I just do."

"Oh. Well, come down to the pier?"

She didn't answer, she was already running. Running was her way to let go. She loved it. It made her free, as though if she ran for long enough, she could fly. Perhaps she could.

"You gotta stop doing that Nellie!" Lucy exclaimed once they had reached their destination, laughing.

"Never," she teased, "never, ever, ever."

"Come sit with me," Lucy said, moving to the end of the pier.

They sat at the end of the pier, staring off into the sapphire blue ocean.

"It's pretty," the blonde said, unable to fathom her friend's apparent love for the sea.

"It's beautiful," she corrected.

"Nel', promise me something?" the blonde said, taking her friend's hand.

"Yeah?"

"Well," she said, giggling, "when we're all grown up, I mean, when we're big like our parents, promise you'll still be my best friend?"

Nellie giggled.

"Of course, silly!"

"And," she continued, "when we're all grown up, and.." she trailed off.

"What?"

Lucy giggled.

"Just tell me Lulu!"

"Alight, alright!" she said, giggling, "when we're older, and _like_ boys-"

"Bleh!" Nellie said, pulling a face.

"Shh! Im serious!" Lucy exclaimed, but she was laughing too.

"Okay!" Nellie said, still giggling.

"When that happens, can we-, do you think-, do you promise to be my bridesmaid?" she said, smiling.

"You're gonna get _married_?!" Nellie said, disgusted.

"Maybe, one day, you never know!" Lucy said.

"Lulu that's disgusting!" Nellie exclaimed.

"I know, but will you?"

"Okay."

"Promise?" the blonde asked.

"I promise, Lulu."

"Good, I promise too."

At this, both girls burst out laughing, the idea of marriage simply repulsive.

The memory of the day was simply too clear to deny, but surely, _surely_ she couldn't mean _that_ promise..

"You promised to be my bridesmaid," the dazzling blonde said.

"I-, I did."

"Will you?"

Nellie's heart froze.

"W-,what?"

"Ben and I," she said, blushing, "that is, he proposed, we're going to be married."

Shock.

"I accepted, of course."

Betrayal.

"Oh, and look!" she said, showing off a beautiful ring.

Jealousy.

"Y-you-, you're sure?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"Of course I'm sure, I love him" she said, smiling.

_No! I do! I do!_

The young baker smiled weakly.

"I'm glad," she said, nearly chocking on her lies, "for both of you."

"Thankyou," she said, "Benny forbid me to tell you, he wanted to himself, but I couldn't wait!"

"Oh," she said, "that's understandable."

"Yes," the blonde said, beaming, "so if you could pretend to be surprised when he tells you.." she trailed off.

"Of course," the baker said sharply.

"So," the radiant blonde said, glowing with happiness, "will you be my bridesmaid?"

The young baker wanted to tear her childish words to shreds. She had promised. But to watch her marry the man she loved? She didn't think she could do it. It would be too much, far too much to watch, to see the honest love she _knew_ he felt for her once best friend. It would kill her. But she couldn't refuse. She had promised.

"I'd be honoured," she said, trying her best to smile.

Promise kept.

"Oh, Nellie im so excited! Im going to be _married_! Can you believe it?!"

_Unfortunately… _

"Of course!" she said.

All this time, Nellie had ignored it. She had ignored the fact that the man she loved was pursuing another woman. Her supposed best friend, as it were. She couldn't believe it, it simply wasn't possible. He was _made_ for her, and that was it. But now, sitting under the shady tree, the revelation hit hard. He didn't love her, he never would. He was marrying Lucy, he loved Lucy, he was always going to. Nothing she could do would change that. The realisation was torture in itself.

And so, in the coming months, she'd helped with _everything_ , be it organising dresses, or helping with the floral arrangements, she was always busy. Every second of it killed her. But nothing was as hard as the day she'd stood aside the altar, waiting for the bride. Watching the pair of them exchange vows, being able to see the pure love in his eyes; it was hell.

The widow sighed, it was no surprise Nessa had guessed the reason she'd had to leave for the powder room numerous times throughout the day.

She turned, hearing somebody move through the hall.

"Nessa? You awake dear?" she called.

"Yes, im here Nel'," she said.

"Nice sleep love?"

"Very nice," Nessa said, smiling, "thanks for all of this Nellie."

"S'my pleasure love," she said, smiling warmly "now, b'fore breakfast, there's someone I want'ya to meet."

"Sure."

"Up 'ere love," she said, moving towards the door.

Both women climbed the stairs hastily, one eager to meet the man above, and the other simply too nervous to dawdle. It wasn't rational, she _knew_ he probably wouldn't recognise her, and Nessa _definitely_ wouldn't recognise him, but her heart still insisted on hammering as though it would burst through her chest. If he recognised her, she was done for. He would kill her for letting her stay here.

She reached out tentatively and knocked on the door. It was an effort wasted, he never answered anyway. Silently, the two women slipped into his room.

"Mr.T?" she asked, "Nessa's 'ere to see ya."

He turned around, glaring at her before facing Nessa. The baker stood stone-still, a miracle in itself, as she waited for the dreaded light of recognition to grace his features. It didn't.

"Nice to meet you sir," she said, bowing her head a little.

"Mr. Todd," he said gruffly "Sweeney Todd."

"Nessa Carrington," she replied.

"I know."

"How long are you here?" he asked.

"Well, I-, I'm not sure," she said, "you see, I came here to-"

"She'll be 'ere as long as she wants," Mrs. Lovett cut in, saving herself from exposure.

He glared at her, before returning his attention to Nessa.

"Not married?" he asked, spying her bare fingers.

"No, no not anymore," she said softly, "are you?"

The baker let out an involuntary noise at her question. The flicker of pain across his face was brief, but it was there.

"No," he replied sharply.

"S'pose we best be 'eadin' down love, lots'a work to do" the baker suggested.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Todd," Nessa said, turning towards the door.

He simply nodded, turning back to his work.

As soon as they were out of the room, Nessa turned to face the baker.

"Why do you let him stay?" Nessa asked.

"What?" she questioned, surprised by the question.

"Nel' you were on edge the entire time, like you wanted to hit him!"

"Oh no, no 'e's a good man," she said, laughing inwardly.

"You don't like him though, why not find a better tenant?"

_Because I bloody love him._

"Oh no, it works out well you know, for the business and all," she reasoned.

They turned indoors in silence.

"I'll be down in the bake 'ouse love, you just relax for a while" she said, leaving the room.

The baker smiled, reflecting on their conversation as she descended the stairs.

"_You don't like him though…"_

Mrs. Lovett smirked; apparently her acting skills had improved dramatically.

--


	23. Truths Revealed

_

* * *

_

Chapter Twenty Three

* * *

_.. The baker smiled, reflecting on their conversation as she descended the stairs.__"You don't like him though…"_

Mrs. Lovett smirked; apparently her acting skills had improved dramatically…

Two weeks of appalling weather had kept the pair of women bound inside the crowded pie emporium. So, as can be imagined, the second the clouds had lifted the two women were out, finally enjoying the fresh air.

"Ya sure ya don't mind love?" the baker asked for the hundredth time, "we can always come 'ere tomorrow, an' walk in the park-"

"It's fine Nel', besides, I like the market place," Nessa assured her, "it's so alive."

"mmm, an' filthy," Nellie retorted.

The baker didn't remember a time without Nessa by her side. Though she had only been with her for two weeks, it seemed an eternity since Nellie had been without a companion. She loved it. She enjoyed having somebody to talk to, and for once, somebody actually listened to everything she said. Knowing that she had somebody to see each day, somebody she could call a friend, it made her happy. It was a wonder the woman had survived without somebody for so long.

"Smells somethin' awful, don't it?" the baker said.

"It's…" Nessa trailed off.

"S'alright love, ya don't 'ave to be kind, I know it ain't like the coast."

"You remember?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"'course I remember, 'ow could I forget?" the baker replied.

"It was so long ago," Nessa started, "it seems an eternity since you were there…"

"t'as been."

"Almost like another life, don't you think?" Nessa enquired.

"Thing' 'ave certainly changed love" the widow replied, failing to hide the sigh at the end of her sentence.

Nessa cleared her throat, "Did you go to her funeral?"

"What?" the baker replied, caught off guard by the question.

"My sister," she repeated, "did you go to her funeral?"

Mrs. Lovett was silent a moment, weighing up her optional replies.

"No," she responded, "no, I didn't go."

"Nobody went," Nessa said quietly.

This did not surprise Mrs. Lovett. It had been an effort to organize the fake funeral, but the Patton's were really the only people whom it was necessary to invite, and she had known none would turn up anyway.

"I didn't tell them," she continued, "I hid the invitations."

This _did_ surprise her.

"What?" the widow asked, confused. She had assumed Lucy's abandoning her family had been the reason for their lack of interest on her death, but if Nessa had felt it necessary to hide the invitations, that couldn't have been the case.

"I didn't want them to go," Nessa explained, "they would've gone, if they knew. So, I told them there was no funeral. They believed me too; with Ben gone, who was there to organize it anyway? They never considered you would do it."

The baker nearly laughed; all that effort in planning the counterfeit funeral had been for nothing.

"Why did you do it Nel'? _How_ could you do it? You hated her."

"I 'ad to, I s'pose," the baker explained, "I've put up with worse. Was a waste though."

Nessa nodded faintly, knowingly.

"I couldn't bear for them to leave for her, _again_."

"Took good care of that one," the baker said, smiling.

"They were going to leave anyway, to get your story-"

"But I wrote an' told all of ya!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed.

"It wasn't enough for them," Nessa whispered, "so I got engaged."

"You 'ated 'er that much?" Nellie replied, shocked.

"Yes."

"Who is 'e? Thought ya told Mr. T ya weren't married?" the baker questioned.

"I'm not, he's dead," Nessa replied plainly.

"Oh love, I'm so-"

"Don't be sorry, I never loved him all that well. He was kind and he looked after me, it was enough" she explained.

"I see."

The baker was more than a little surprised; they had a lot more in common than she'd thought.

"So they stayed, and I was the golden child for once," Nessa continued, "they liked Geoffrey, and he liked them. They were terribly upset when he passed."

"An' you?" the baker asked.

"I played the grieving widow for a while, you know how it is."

"Yeah, s'pose I do…" Mrs. Lovett trailed off.

"I meant what I said the first night Nel'," Nessa said, changing the subject only slightly, "you're more a sister to me than she ever was."

The baker smiled, flattered.

"Thank ya love, I've never 'ad a friend like you," she replied. It was true, the only person who'd been a friend to her had long since become the enemy.

"Do you remember your sister?" Nessa questioned.

"Cara? A little," she replied.

"I remember her," Nessa said.

"Ya do?" Nellie asked, sounding surprised.

"My sister and yourself were outside running around, laughing, and I watched you two from inside. I was awfully jealous of Lucy. You two always had the best fun; I had to watch-"

"We-"

"Three's a crowd, remember?" Nessa said, cutting her friend off, "Cara used to watch the pair of you with the same envy. She knew she'd never have it, but she wanted to be with you so much. I used to talk to her, she was sweet."

"I never saw ya with 'er, I didn't even know ya was there."

"I hadn't been there for long. It was only right before she…" she trailed off.

"Died."

"It must have been awful Nel'," she said.

"It wasn't, not really. I was only a young thing, never understood it all," Mrs. Lovett explained.

"Even so…"

"I did miss 'er, but I 'ardly knew 'er. She was always ill. Used to 'ave a lot'a fun, but she got weak. I 'ardly saw 'er, 'cept for when I was tendin' to 'er. I missed 'er, but not too bad," the baker explained, "me parents lost it, but I don't blame 'em."

"So young."

"Barely nine years ol'. Makes me wonder if that's what made me mum find someone else; time fits."

"True."

"Anyways, enough dwellin' on those things, no time for that," Nellie said, brightening.

"Oh no, not when there are so many apples to buy!" Nessa teased.

They walked in silence for ten minutes, each of them contemplating what the other had said. Nellie was amazed at the things her friend had just shared; it seemed she wasn't as entirely alone in the world, as she'd assumed.

"Over 'ere," the baker said suddenly.

"What?"

"'ere, now," she repeated, a sense of urgency highlighting her voice.

She pulled Nessa into the midst of the crowds, straying away from the side streets where they had been.

"Nel', its much less crowded back there.." Nessa reasoned.

"It's less muddy 'ere," the baker lied, her heart racing as her eyes confirmed what she had seen.

"I don't mind the mud Nel'."

"I do," Mrs. Lovett replied too quickly, "stay in the crowds."

"Nellie, _why?_" the younger woman asked.

"Jus' 'cause," the baker said.

They continued to push through the crowds, stopping here and there to sample the market goods. Nellie's heart slowed as she recovered from her shock; she'd avoided the disaster easily.

"You right there love?" Nellie said, smiling, "ready to be off?"

"Yes, hang on, just a second," Nessa said, handing the stall keeper a few coins, "there, lets go."

"Alright, lets go back this way love," Mrs. Lovett said, avoiding the crowds and taking to the back streets, "it's quicker."

"Alright," Nessa replied, "what's Toby up to, while we're out here?"

"He went off to-" the baker said, freezing mid sentence.

"Nel'?"

Mrs. Lovett was frozen. Apparently she hadn't avoided disaster so completely as she thought. There mere meters away, and completely visible to Nessa, stood the hated sister; Lucy Barker.

"Do you know her?" Nessa whispered, following the baker's gaze.

Nellie nearly shook herself; she didn't recognize her own _sister?_

"No," the baker whispered in reply.

"Then what-"

"Nothing, she jus' gave me a frigh'," Mrs. Lovett explained, her heart racing.

"Nel' you look like you've seen a ghost!"

"S'nothing love," she replied, "let's get us 'ome."

It was near the dinner time before the two women spoke again.

"I think I might go and see Mr. Todd, if you don't mind," Nessa told the baker, standing by the door.

"Sure, whatever ya like love."

Nessa smiled to herself, turning and climbing the stairs to Mr. Todd's tonsorial parlour. She knew he wasn't the most friendly of men, but she was drawn to the man; he seemed to have a story to tell. Perhaps is she let him into her mind, he would let her into his. She was simply curious.

"Mr. Todd?" she questioned, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"What?" he answered, not leaving the window where he stood.

"I wanted to talk to you," she said, walking into the room.

The barber rolled his eyes, turning to face the woman.

"I'm busy."

"I used to know the man who lived up here," she said, "did you know him?"

Her question caught him off guard for a moment.

"No."

She sighed, happy with his answer. She needed someone who was impartial on the matter to talk to. Nellie was a fantastic friend, but on this matter her opinions were somewhat biased

"Lovely man," she said, smiling, "his wife didn't deserve him though, do you want to hear about them?"

Sweeney froze.

"How did you know her?"

Nessa sighed, relieved; she'd gotten through.

"I didn't know her all that well," she said, "hardly saw her, actually."

"_How_ did you know her?"

The woman smiled.

"I'm her sister."

--

Um, another thing; you all remember chapter thirty, with my depressing sex scene? Well, as i said there, they had being doing it for a long time before then, i simply hadn't written it. Same applies here; simply because i am not writing it, does not mean it isn't happening. So you can all just assume that they are still going at it, shall we say...behind the scenes? Oh, and no, Nessa does not know who Sweeney is, by the way, because i realise it may come across that way.


	24. Lie, Still

a/n: Its been a while, huh. Gosh I'm as nervous as when I first started this. Worried that I've lost my touch, let me know if I'm still okay, alright? Still placing the re-caps at the start of each chapter just to clear things up :]

Just a note on why this has taken so long;  
basically i had SUPERMASSIVE writers block. Not for the plot of the whole story, i've written that..just on _how_ to write this, and the next few chapters. I hope i did okay. Besides that, between juggling VCE (yr11+12 subjects), work, friends, boyfriend, homeworkhomeworkhomework, kittens and seeing my dad (when i have to), its sometimes a bit difficult to fit in time to **breathe**, let alone write 2000+ words in one timeslot. Still, I'll do my best from now on. I've missed this. Love to you all. xx

Ah, also a quick note. I've edited this down to 24 chapters from whatever I had, but the content hasn't changed- i just mixed chapters together to give myself more even chapter lengths. Also, this means that all reveiws previous to this chapter are now totally messed up in order, so if you read them and they don't match up with the chapter, thats why :)

* * *

**RECAP;  
**

_"How did you know her?" he questioned, sounding almost desperate._

_The woman smiled._

_"I'm her sister."  
_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR; LIE, STILL **

It was _impossible._

Every detail she recalled was flawless. Irrefutable. From childhood to death, this young woman knew every single thing there was to know about Lucy Barker. Her account of their wedding, her knowledge of Benjamin's arrest and her detailed description of his late wife's suicide- it was all to perfect. Even her appearance mocked him now. The way her raven hair fell delicately around her face, the way she held herself, her delicate manner of speaking. They were nothing, yet _so_ alike. The years had passed, and his memory may have failed him before, but now? No. There was no denying it. The woman stood before him _was_ Lucy's sister. Nessa Carrington, _formerly_ Patton.

"Sir?" the woman called to him, "..Sir?"

Mr. Todd looked up to her, his eyes glossed over.

"Sir, I do not mean to-" she paused, his reaction troubling her, "are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Well, Sir, I do not mean to retell all this simply for your own amusement," she started.

"No?" His voice contained an ever-so-slight sarcastic tone- as if _he_ of all people could be amused by such information.

"You see, I _did_ come here on matters of official business.." she continued, though noticing something of a far away look in his eyes, "it involves the man who used to live here, Benjamin, as I told you..and, well, financial matters"

Regaining interest only slightly, the barber replied, "what about it?"

"It doesn't really matter now, I mean, I'd assumed," she paused to laugh at herself, "I'd assumed _you_ were Benjamin, that's why I came all this way!"

He froze, alarmed, "what?"

"Imagine that! Ah my, you do look nothing alike. Oh, not to be a bother but you don't hold half his good looks- I always did envy my sister in _that_ respect. Dear, I was foolish in coming all this way."

Calmer, but far more confused, he spoke again, "Why would you assume that I," he swallowed hard, his own body fighting back the name, "was Benjamin?"

"Oh well, now I don't know if I can tell you that.." she trailed off, "oh, well, never mind! I shall anyway," she continued, the gossip within her surfacing, "you know Nel- _Mrs. Lovett_, down below?"

He nodded in response.

"Well, as I explained, we have known each other quite some time. We grew up together, though she was younger and spent her time mainly with my sister."

"Yes."

"Well, I learnt her mannerisms and expressions by heart- I watched the two younger girls a lot, you see. And when we were older, after Lucy came to stay here, we began to speak again. I think from the first moment I saw Ben walk into the room with Nel' beside me, I knew."

"Knew what?" he responded, though he was quite certain of her response.

"That she was in love with him, of course."

"Ah," he responded, his predictions being proved correct. Her recollection neither surprised nor bothered him; though he'd been oblivious to her feelings for him at the time, the years of reflection he'd had in prison had made him realise what he, no, _Benjamin_, had meant to her- but only after it had become far too late.

"It was awful to see. The way he doted on his then fiancee without any recogniton to spare to his former best friend. Lucy loved him, I won't deny that, but not the way Nellie did. She adored him, worshiped him, even. Enough to let him abandon her for somebody else. The time I was there, she cried every night, and I can reasonably assume she did so after and before by being there."

"I see," he replied, then, feigning compassion, "terrible."

"And the day of their wedding..oh! My sister picked Nellie for her _bridesmaid!_ I can't even fathom how she stood so strong while she watched the man she loved marry another woman- and her supposed best friend, too." She paused, recollecting her thoughts, "Anyway, I'm digressing. Nellie was so in love with Ben that after he was taken, she never let the room to anybody, and I'd assumed she never would unless the man himself returned."

"Ah.."

"Yes, so when I heard of this room being let, I instantly assumed it would be to Mr. Barker, hence I came to discuss financial issues with the man himself. Though to no avail."

"What were you after, exactly?" he questioned, intrigued.

"Ah, just to see if he would consider a subsidiary payment to the family to relieve us of the costs we paid for Lucy's funeral and burial." She lied, of course. Her family had no given a cent towards Lucy's funeral or proceedings- but Benjamin didn't know that, and she was poor.

"Oh."

"Yes, I asked Mrs. Lovett if she thought, on the off chance that he may return, if he would do such a thing for us."

"Sorry?"

"And she replied that if Benjamin himself were _ever_ to return she was positive he'd do everything he would to help. I myself quite agree."

He hadn't even fathomed until now that Mrs. Lovett remembered Nessa for what she was. _"a friend from the old days,_" she'd said. But he hadn't listened. He hadn't even noticed how on edge she'd been when Nessa introduced herself. The barber was infuriated. He'd leant too much in the one day to keep himself at ease. Nessa Carrington _was_ Lucy's sister. And Mrs. Lovett knew.

_That __bitch__._

"He was a very generous man, you see," she continued, oblivious to his revelations.

_How __dare__ she keep this from him._

"Too kind, almost," she smiled at the memory.

"Enough." he spoke smoothly, his tone like ice.

Lack of experience hereof was her ruin; the woman continued to speak, "enough? No, no. He was far more than 'kind _enough!_'

The demonic barber was sitting on boiling point.

"Good ol' Ne;' even went so far as to say he might give _her_ a small payment- in accordance with the rent he still owes her for the week he was captured!"

99.9 °C, 211.9 °F.

"Though of course, she'd never ask him for a cent," she assured.

He gritted his teeth.

"Not with the way she loved him- to see him would be enough to pay back a thousand weeks rent."

He gripped the window frame. _How could she have kept this from him?!_

"And even so, Nel' was never a big one for money," she continues, oblivious, "always had a penny or so for the poor even as a child."

She hadn't seen the warning signs before- the poor woman had no clue what she was stirring within him.

"Did _she_ ever talk to you about the old days? About Ben? Lucy?"

The baker knew full well everything this woman had told him. She knew that Nessa knew Lucy, knew _Ben_. She knew everything. And she hadn't even _hinted_. He could honestly kill her.

"I suppose not," she continued at his silence, "she's a very private person, very careful."

He clenched his jaw so keep from yelling. This would not end well.

"Most honest person I know, though," she followed, "never once did she lie to me, not even about her love for Benjamin," she smiled, "yes, very honest."

100 °C, 212 °F.

"_Enough!_" he yelled, glaring at her.

Boiling point.

He stormed past the now terrified woman, slamming the door on his way out.

Mrs. Lovett froze as she heard the unmistakable sound of Mr. Todd's furious shout.

_What the he-_

Mr. Todd stormed into the kitchen.

"What the _hell_ is she doing here?" he seethed at her.

"What?" the baker squeaked, alarmed by his sudden outburst, "I told ya, she's a friend from the ol' days."

He glared at her.

"You got that right," he growled.

Panic overtook her. _Oh sweet Jesus, did he know?_

"Whatever d'ya mean love?" she tried, keeping her voice under moderate control.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"'fraid not love," she replied. _Oh dear God, __please__ don't let her have told him.._

"You know what she told me?!" he hissed.

_Shit._

"She told me everything I couldn't remember about Benjamin's wedding, about Lucy's childhood, her funeral," he growled, "_your_ childhood too."

His glare froze her. She nearly cried at how unfair this was.

"I-, I didn't even-," she stuttered, "I didn't know.."

"Liar."

"I-"

"_LIAR!_" he roared.

The baker simply stood there.

"You knew because you'd _never_ forget about the days on the coast. You know because you'd never let got of _any_ moments you spent with Ben- and she was there for some. You know because when she arrived here she _told_ you she was here to see Ben, that she wanted his money- and _you_ told _her_ he'd happily give it up for her. You knew exactly who she was," he seethed at her, his voice filled with raw anger, "and you never thought to tell me this woman was my wife's sister?!"

He had her pinned, with each his gaze, hands and words. She stared up at him through glassy eyes.

"You'd never 'ave let 'er stay.."

"Damn right I wouldn't have!"

He was grasping her neck so tightly she thought she might suffocate. She somewhat hoped she would, it'd clear her of whatever was to follow.

"How _dare_ you keep this from me," he breathed, "what gave you the right?!"

"She's my _friend_," she pleaded, "I jus' wanted her to sat 'ere for a bit."

"She's Lucy's sister, that's who she is!"

"Oh, so what?" she bit back.

It was stupid, she knew, to challenge him at times like these- but such was her nature.

"So," he glared at her, "she's leaving."

"No!" she squeaked, "she can't!"

She felt the cold rush of icy metal against her neck.

"She can."

She hadn't meant for him to ever discover the truth about Nessa- why the _hell_ had Nessa told him? She knew she'd been stupid in trying to conceal the facts from him, Sweeney always had a way of finding out the truth; but what was she meant to do?

"Its fine, she thinks Ben's still in priso-" she stuttered, her heart dropping to her stomach, "wait, why did she-, she didn't know, did she? Good 'eavens she didn't _recognise_ ya did she? Oh ya didn't _tell_ 'er, did ya?"

"Of course not you stupid woman," he spat at her, "but she could have. You could have ruined _everything_."

"bu' I didn't.." she whispered.

"You might as well have!" he yelled, flashing yet another razor to her neck- one to each side.

He pressed one of his dear friends into the let side of neck just slightly, sending shining rubies delicately down her neck and chest to the lace neckline of her dress.

She squirmed against the wall to escape the pain, but he was far too strong for her tiny frame.

"Did you really think I wouldn't catch on, hm?" he seethed, "did you really think you could outsmart me?"

"Well if she didn't tell you you'd never have know!" she cried out, simply protesting for the sake of it.

"I would've. I would've seen the resemblance soon enough- she's Lucy's _sister_ for Christ's sake!"

"Oh, _please_," she dared, "you can't even remember _her_, let alone her sister. Can you? Hm?"

"You dare-"

"What colour hair did she have again?" she cut in, "Wheat? Flaxen? Tawny?"

"H-"

"Can't remember, can you?" she concluded.

She glared accusingly at him and was met with equally cold eyes. And then a kiss.

_What the hell?_

Sweeney hadn't _meant_ to kiss her. He'd come down to the kitchen with every intention to harm the woman- to say the least. But hell, he'd have to be a bloody robot not to notice how she squirmed, writhed between himself and the wall, to ignore the heaving of her overexposed chest, or to pretend _not_ to notice how the thin trickle of blood from her neck had dipped right between her breasts. It was simply too much- and it had been too long.

The baker was just as confused- momentarily, though. It had become their way. Well, his way, at least. Anger was best released sexually, apparently. It annoyed her somewhat, though she _was_ partial to his methods. It upset her only that she knew this was nothing more than anger. Not even desire- well, perhaps a tiny amount- but majority of his passion was fuelled by rage. Sure, It made for more exiting 'adventures', but colder, lonelier nights.

Kissing along her décolletage, he winced in disgust for himself. He hated how dependant he had become on her. It was his weakness. He _was_ only a man, afterall- and she wore her corsettes decidedly tighter than she should. Excuses aside, he hated it. Though he hated more the fact that it was _her_ he was confined to 'using'. Of course there were those of the street that he could releive himself with, but they were unclean- Lord only knew what scum had been _there_. Without that option, he was left with only one, and as much as he hated that he was reduce to _her_, he had to admit, it was convenient. It disgusted him, though, how easy she was. _She_ disgusted him. He wanted sex, not sex with her- and she didn't seem to understand that. The way she reacted to his touch appalled him. She enjoyed it and it made him _sick_. She was the complete opposite to Lucy, who had laid there, stone still and silent, save for coo-ing and encouraging him. Lucy had been proper. Lucy had been-

_Ah._

He stopped his attack on her clothes immediately. The baker watched dumbfounded as he stepped back from her, smirking, and walked out of her shop.

Nessa Carrington sat on a small chair in the far corner of the room, contemplating what had just occurred between herself and the barber. His behaviour perplexed her immensely. She shook her head, no _wonder_ Mrs. Lovett was always on edge around him, what with a temper like that. She stood and straightened her skirt as she heard the barber climbing the stairway.

Sweeney smiled sadistically at as he entered his parlour.

Lucy had been the perfect lover.

_Perhaps it ran in the family?_


End file.
